Sherlock Holmes and Edith Crawley
by Syblime
Summary: Swap John Watson for Edith Crawley and you get Crime as never before, but will she get Sherlocked?
1. Part 1 A Study in Ginger

_Being a huge fan of both Sherlock and Downton Abbey, you can probably imagine my delight at seeing Benedict Cumberbatch and Laura Carmichael together in Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy. Anyway, I now ship them. Hopefully that will explain this maddness ;)_

_Usual disclaimer: I don't own the characters, or the story lines, or anything really._

_Also, Massive thanks to EOlivet who has been a wonderful beta and an inspiration while I've been writing this. (Go check out her Sherlock/Downton crossover, if you haven't already.)_

_Enjoy :)_

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><p><strong>Part 1 - A Study in Ginger.<strong>

For the entire plane journey back, Edith couldn't stop thinking about what she had seen. The young men, some younger than her, with such horrific injuries, screaming with fear and pain, haunted her. She'd only gone over there to visit Sybil, who was now an army doctor, but the on site staff had been shorthanded so she stayed and helped out. It had been two months, nearly three, the best and worst of her life. She felt liberated, being away from Mary and all the troubles back home. Papa was worried about money issues, and whether the estate would fare through the winter. It felt like another world, but that was what she was going home to. Also now that Mary's divorce had gone through, she would be spending the winter at home and Edith didn't want to have to deal with that. She turned her attention back to her book. Flight attendants kept coming over to her and telling her to get some sleep, but she didn't feel that she could.

She was grateful when they eventually landed at Gatwick. She had missed England more than she cared to admit. Having retrieved her bag and got through security she went in search of a post box. In Afghanistan she had helped a lot of the soldiers compose letters to their families, and she promised to post this latter bunch when she was back in England, because it would be much quicker than waiting for the post out there. She bought a coffee from Starbucks and finally made her way to the station, in order to find a train to complete her journey home to Yorkshire.

"Edith, Darling, It's good to have you back. How's Sybil?" was the greeting she got from her mother. Her father and Mary were out, visiting some Lord and Lady of somewhere or other. Edith was whisked inside, her coat and bag seemed to disappear as her mother began to explain all the changes since she had been away. Then began the tour of her own home; wonderful. Edith let her mind wander, thinking about the sheer numbers of men and women they could fit in here if the house was ever turned into a hospital.

"Edith. You're not even listening to me." Her mother's rebuke made her snap back to the present.

"I'm sorry mama; it's just that I haven't slept since I left Afghanistan."

"Well, your room is all ready for you, if you want to go to bed." Edith nodded at her mother's suggestion. "Goodnight darling."

"Goodnight Mama."

That night the nightmares had started. She kept seeing their faces, but she was unable to save them. A week later her father took her to London to get psychiatric help. She was now living at Grantham House, her family's London home, that way she wouldn't disturb anyone. However it bothered her that she was the only one living in such a large house, and how much it was costing her parents.

She woke up, as per normal, from a restless night, poured herself a cup of tea and sat down to wait for her laptop to load. Sitting in the large kitchen all alone, was not ideal for Edith. She did enjoy the ability to do what she wanted without her mother criticizing, or Mary sniping at her, but wanting her own life included wanting someone to share it with. She checked her E-mails and then opened her blog. The Psychiatrist had recommended her to write down everything that happened. Edith had replied with a simple "nothing happens to me." She had considered writing a novel, but one of the soldiers had suggested that she become a writer, and he had then been cruelly snatched away. He was one of the first they lost while she was there, and it had upset her terribly. Secondly the only thing she could think of that would fill a novel was Mary and she didn't particularly want to write about her sister. She stared at the blank screen, then shut the computer down again and went for a walk in the park.

"Edith? Lady Edith?" She'd been completely lost in her thoughts and it took her a while to register that someone was talking to her.

"Thomas! Hello."

"It's Doctor Barrow now." He said smugly. "What are you doing here? Last I heard you were abroad somewhere getting shot at."

Edith laughed. "I was! To start with I just went out there to see Sybil, but I stayed nearly three months."

"I bet that was an eye-opener," Thomas observed.

"It was, but it's made life back here harder."

"So, are you staying in town 'till you get yourself sorted?" He asked.

"Yeah, but I don't like staying in that massive house on my own," Edith admitted.

"But you couldn't bear to be anywhere else. Couldn't Mary help?"

Edith gave a disgruntled snort. "Like that's gonna happen!"

Thomas chuckled to himself, unable to resist the temptation of setting up a little fun. "You could get a flat share, or something."

"Come on, who'd want me for a flatmate?" Edith knew she wasn't exactly popular, but Thomas smirked at her comment. She'd walked straight into his plot. "What?"

"You're the second person to say that to me today." Thomas explained with a hint of mischief.

"Oh, who was the first?"

* * *

><p><em>TBC...<em>


	2. Chapter 2

"I think he kind of works here," Thomas said as they made their way down a corridor of the vast building that was St Bartholomew's. He was starting to wonder whether this was a good idea or not. Edith Crawley was from a different world to the man he was going to introduce her to.

"What do you mean 'kind of'?"

"Well, I'm not sure that he's actually employed but he spends a lot of time here." They came to the door of another laboratory. "This is it. Now I warn you, he's a bit weird." Thomas pushed the door and walked in. Edith followed him.

"Can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine." Edith watched the inhabitant carefully. He'd barely glanced up to see who had come in. There was no friendly welcome, or introduction for that matter.

"What's wrong with the land line?" Thomas asked.

"Oh, I prefer to text." To Edith he sounded almost spoilt, like Mary. Damn. She must stop doing that; bitterly comparing everything with her older sister.

"Sorry, it's in my coat." Thomas was blatantly lying.

"Here, use mine." Edith handed over her blackberry. It had been Mary's, until she had bought a new phone because Richard kept sending her messages on it.

"Oh, thank you."

"An old friend of mine, Edith Crawley." Thomas finally made some attempt at an introduction, although she wouldn't exactly have described them as 'friends'.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" The other gentleman asked.

Edith was a bit taken aback. "I'm sorry?"

"Which was it, Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"Afghanistan, sorry how did you…" Edith was interrupted by the door opening revealing a woman in a lab coat carrying a mug of something.

"Ah, Molly, Coffee. Thank you." He took a sip before continuing. "How do you feel about the violin?"

Edith assumed he was talking to her, since the lab assistant had walked out of the door. "In what respect?" This man was a complete mystery. He was making little or no sense, yet there was something compelling about him. He was also quite attractive. Edith noted to herself.

"I play the violin when I'm thinking; sometimes I don't talk for days on end, would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other." He smirked at her.

Flatmates? How the hell did know that? She turned to Thomas, "You told him about me?" It wasn't an accusation, more of a question, however it sounded.

"Not a word." Edith could tell Thomas was itching for a cigarette, but they were in a lab, in a non smoking building.

"Then who said anything about flatmates?" Again, it was meant to be a question.

"I did. I told Thomas this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is, after lunch with an 'old friend' who is just home from Afghanistan. Wasn't a difficult leap." He shrugged his coat on as he spoke.

"How did you know about Afghanistan?" She was curious and he was intriguing.

"Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it. Meet there tomorrow evening, about 7.00. Sorry got to dash; I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary." He prepared to leave.

"Is that it?" Edith asked.

"Is that what?" he replied, matching her cynical tone.

"We've only just met, and we are going to go and look at a flat?"

"Problem?"

A lot less than my parents would have with this, she thought. "We don't know a thing about each other." To be perfectly honest, that was part of the appeal; a fresh start, but Edith knew when to listen to reason. "I might be a wanted criminal, or something."

He looked at her in a way Mary would look over potential partners at a club, but it was combined with something else. It was combined with intelligence and mystique. "I know you are a medical student who has just returned from Afghanistan. I know you've got a sister who's worried about you, but you won't go to her for help, because you don't approve of her, possibly because she just walked out on her husband, more likely due to sibling rivalry. That's enough to be going on with don't you think?"

Edith took a moment to recover herself. "I suppose, but I still don't know anything about you. You might be the criminal mastermind here. I don't even know your name and I don't know where in the world we are meeting."

He had all but walked out of the door, but stopped, "The name is Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221b Baker Street." He winked at her. "Afternoon." And with that, he was gone, leaving Edith staring after him, completely stunned. She broke from her trance and looked to Thomas.

"Yep, He's always like that. Now I'm going for a fag."

"Wait! Do you actually expect me to move in with this guy?"

Thomas shrugged. "Why not?" His little experiment hadn't gone as well as he had anticipated. Neither was particularly rude to the other and it appeared that they might actually be going to go and look at a flat.

"Well, what is he like? You must know something about him." Edith was persistent and continued to question Thomas as they made their way out of the building.

Back at Grantham house, Edith pondered over the encounter. She was going to go for it- that much was obvious. The question was whether she should tell her family that she was moving in with a complete stranger. She'd have to, eventually, they'd want to shut the house up, or rent it out again if she wasn't living there. She poured herself another cup of tea and proceeded to check her phone. It was probably best to keep it to herself until she knew if it would work out or not. For all she knew this guy might be a psychopath! After reading any new messages, curiosity led her to check her sent messages, to see what he'd said.

'_If brother has green ladder, arrest brother. SH'_

Edith couldn't help but laugh. Something told her, that whatever happened, it was going to be fun.

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><p><em>TBC...<em>


	3. Chapter 3

The evening was still light as she walked down Baker Street. Edith found herself desperately hoping that the flat would be perfect, although, given the location, she wasn't sure if her modest funds would cover the cost. She didn't want to have to ask her parents for money just yet. She had used street view on Google maps to ascertain that 221B was next to Speedy's sandwich bar and café, so she found it easily and knocked on the door.

"Hello."

Edith spun around to see her new flat mate pay his taxi fare, and walk over to her. "Mr Holmes." Edith greeted him formally as they shook hands.

"Sherlock, please."

"It looks nice. Is it expensive?" Edith tried to sound casual, but she was slightly apprehensive.

"Mrs Hudson, the landlady has given me a special deal, owes me a favour. Few years back her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help out."

"Sorry, you stopped her husband from being executed?" Edith asked, puzzled.

"Oh no, I ensured it." He smirked at her.

"Sherlock!" A woman appeared from inside and hugged him.

"Mrs Hudson, Edith Crawley." Sherlock introduced them. Edith found it a pleasant change from the introductions her mother always made; with a huge emphasis on the Lady and hardly bothering with the Edith.

"Hello, come in." Mrs Hudson beckoned. She had a friendly smile, Edith noticed, as the older lady stepped aside to let them in.

"Thank you," Edith replied and proceeded to follow Sherlock up the stairs. He paused before opening the door to their new home with a pronounced flourish. Edith surveyed the room, feeling like she too was under surveillance as she observed the cluttered boxes and general disarray that adorned the room. "It's very nice. I like it." She said decidedly.

"Yes. Yes I do too, my thoughts precisely, so I went straight ahead and moved in."

"Oh, so this is all your mess is it?" Edith laughed good-humouredly.

"Well, obviously I can straighten things up a bit." Sherlock immediately began shifting papers to clear some space. He pinned his post to the mantle piece with a pen knife, taking Edith's attention with him.

"That's a skull." She stated, with an undertone of disbelief.

"Friend of mine," he told her, with the utmost decorum. "Well, I say friend…"

"What do you think then, Miss Crawley?" Mrs Hudson interrupted them. "There's another bedroom, if you'll be needing two bedrooms."

"Of course we'll need two." Edith began to wonder what Sherlock had told this woman. True, he had kind of invited her to live with him after only a few minutes, but that didn't mean he was interested in her, did it?

"Oh, don't worry. We get all sorts round here." Mrs Hudson walked around the mess and towards the kitchen, which was set up more like a laboratory. "Oh… Sherlock, the mess you've made." She scolded him like a child, making Edith laugh. Sherlock, meanwhile looked unconcerned and opened up his laptop.

"I looked you up on the internet last night." Edith admitted.

"Anything interesting?" He asked, genuinely.

"Found your website; the science of deduction."

"What did you think?" Sherlock looked so prideful that Edith didn't want to tell him that she hadn't really believed much of it.

"It was… Intriguing. Does it work though?"

"Yesterday I said Afghanistan or Iraq. You looked surprised, yet you still don't believe what's on the website?" He tutted at her mockingly.

"How did you know about that?" Edith asked. He just looked at her then walked over to the window.

"What about these suicides then Sherlock? Thought that'd be right up your street. Three exactly the same." Mrs Hudson looked up from her newspaper.

"Four." He spoke with the same bluntness as usual. "There's been a fourth. There's something different this time." Edith quickly joined him by the window. There was a police car parked outside.

"A fourth?" Mrs Hudson questioned. As if on cue someone came up the stairs, but stopped when he saw Sherlock and Edith standing next to each other.

"Where?" Sherlock asked the man, who just stared at them. Edith flicked her gaze between the two men, in confusion.

"Is she your girlfriend?" He spluttered at last.

"What? No, no!" Sherlock glanced at Edith beside him, before pacing across the room. The determination in his voice made the rejection hurt just a little bit, although Edith had to admit she'd probably have done the same if someone had asked if he was her boyfriend. They'd only just met after all.

"Brixton, Lauriston Gardens." The other man stated.

"What?" Sherlock seemed distracted. "Oh, right, the case. What's new about this one? You wouldn't have come to get me if there wasn't something different."

"You know how they never leave notes, this one did. Will you come?"

"Who's on forensics?" Sherlock asked him.

"Anderson."

Edith saw a flash of distaste in Sherlock's eyes as he turned his head. "Anderson won't work with me."

"Well he won't be your assistant!" the policeman shot back.

"I need an assistant."

"Will you come?" he was pleading with Sherlock now.

"Not in a police car, I'll be right behind."

"Thank you." The relief was evident in the man's voice. He looked between Sherlock and Edith once more before he turned and went back downstairs. Edith stood through this episode, watching as if it was a TV drama. She was about to ask what that had all been about when Sherlock took his hands out of his pockets and jumped in celebration.

"Brilliant! Yes! Ah, four serial suicides and now a note, oh it's Christmas. Mrs Hudson, I'll be late, might need some food." He said twirling around the apartment and putting on his coat.

"I'm your landlady dear, not your housekeeper." She reprimanded him gently.

"Something cold will do. Edith, have a cup of tea. Make yourself at home. Don't wait up!" Sherlock called, as he walked out of the door.

"Look at him dashing about. My Husband was just the same." Mrs Hudson commented to Edith.

"Mrs Hudson, he isn't my husband, or boyfriend, or anything. I only met him yesterday." Edith tried to clarify the situation.

"Yes, dear." Mrs Hudson's reply sounded slightly patronising, but Edith knew she was just being kind. "Shall I get you a cup of tea?"

"Yes, that would be lovely, thank you."

"Just this once dear, I'm not your housekeeper." Mrs Hudson obviously wasn't going to let that drop. She was most definitely a landlady.

Edith didn't really know what to do now that she was here. She sat down and picked up the newspaper that was resting on the side of the chair. She never bothered reading the paper at home. If there was anything important going on, she would usually here about it from her family, but to be honest the news never really interested her. The suicides that Sherlock had been talking about were plastered across the front page and there was even a picture of the inspector who had come up.

"You're a medical student," Sherlock's distinct voice carried from the doorway, making her jump slightly. "And you've been to Afghanistan."

"Yes." Edith stood up again.

"Seen a lot of injuries then, violent deaths? Bit of trouble too, I bet."

"Yes unfortunately, far too much." She replied honestly.

Sherlock smiled a bit. "Want to see some more?"

"Not really." Sherlock actually looked quite hurt by her blunt reply, or had she imagined that? Mary always employed tactics of playing hard to get when it came to relationships, but Edith had genuinely seen enough trouble for a lifetime.

"I could use your help."

"Really?" Edith was surprised that he was requesting her presence. His clear grey eyes, so tantalisingly inviting. She could hardly refuse now, could she? "Um, well okay I'll come." Sherlock smiled at his victory.

Edith followed Sherlock down the stairs, calling out to the Landlady as they neared the bottom. "Sorry Mrs Hudson, don't worry about the tea, I'm going with Sherlock."

"To the crime scene?" She sounded surprised.

"Possible suicides? Four of them? There's no point in sitting at home when there's finally something fun going on!" Sherlock enthused.

"Look at you, all happy. It's not decent." She told him plainly.

"Who cares about decent? The game, Mrs Hudson, is on!"

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><p><em>oooh, TBC...<em>


	4. Chapter 4

Having hailed a taxi, Sherlock and Edith were now whizzing across London. Edith kept flicking her gaze between the man sitting next to her and the blur that was London as it passed by the window of the cab.

"Okay, you've got questions." Sherlock invited her to talk.

"Um, yeah, who are you?" He threw a sceptical look her way. "What do you do?"

"What do you think?" It wasn't going to be easy, extracting personal information from him. She'd have to be creative.

"I'd say private detective…"

"But"

"But the police don't go to private detectives." Sherlock smiled at her observation, so she must be on the right lines.

"I'm a consulting detective, only one in the world. I invented the job." He told her.

"What does that mean?"

"It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me."

"Oh." His description barely gave any indication to what he actually did. She looked down at her hands, unsure of how to ask him about his inhuman capacity of knowing everything about people, yet hardly looking at them.

"Well," patience was not Sherlock's key attribute.

"Um… Yesterday, how did you know about Afghanistan?"

"I didn't know. I saw. The way you hold yourself says military, your face is tanned, but there is no tan line above your wrist. You've been abroad but not sunbathing, especially unusual for a young woman, so you've been working. The way you intently watched what I was doing from the moment you entered the room suggests that you are used to observing people to pick up a skill, so student. Also, you were completely unfazed by the apparatus and set up of the laboratory; medical student then. Where abroad are they desperately in need of medical help, due to military action; Afghanistan or Iraq." He paused.

"Wow!"

"Then there's your sister. Your phone. It's expensive: a Blackberry, if you're looking for a flat share you wouldn't waste money on this, it's a gift then, but not a very valued one. Scratches, many of them. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. Luxury item mistreated, so you don't get on with the person who gave it to you. Next bit's easy, you know it already."

"The engraving?"

_Mary Crawley_

_From Richard_

_xxx_

"Mary Crawley, clearly a family member who has given you her old phone. I'm assuming sister since you're looking for cheap accommodation so it's unlikely that you've got an extended family, certainly not one that you're close to. Now Richard. Who is Richard? 3 kisses say it's a romantic attachment. Expensive phone says Husband, not boyfriend. Must've given it to her recently, this model is only 6 months old. Marriage in trouble then, 6 months on and she's just given it away. If he'd left her, she'd have kept it, people do. Sentimental reasons. But she wanted rid of it; she left him. She gave the phone to you, that says she wants you to say in touch, but you're not going to her for help. That says you've got problems with her."

"Oh."

"What?"

"I didn't realise it was that obvious. Mary and me don't get on, never have. Mary always seemed to get everything she ever wanted, and I was always overlooked."

"Something must have gone wrong though – she obviously didn't want Richard." Sherlock spoke as if he knew them.

"No, she didn't. She's at home now; her divorce went through when I was in Afghanistan. I don't know why she ever married him in the first place."

"Good. I'm not always spot on, but I think that comes pretty close!"

"You're Amazing!"

"You think so?" He turned to face her.

"Of course. That was extraordinary." Edith gushed.

"That's not what people normally say."

"Why, what do people normally say?"

"Piss off!"

~X~

The taxi cab pulled up at the address Sherlock had given and they climbed out.

"Hello freak." Sherlock was greeted by a female sergeant.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade invited me to take a look, so don't go asking why I'm here." Sherlock dipped under the police tape and held it up for Edith.

"Who's this?" Only certain people were obviously welcome onto the crime scene.

"Colleague of mine. Edith Crawley."

"Oh, any relation to the scandalous Mary Crawley?"

"Would it be better if I just waited here?" Edith tried to shrug it off. She was forever trapped under Mary's shadow.

"Anyway, how do you get a colleague?" The policewoman turned back to Sherlock, "Did you follow her home?"

"Edith, this is Sgt Sally Donovan."

"Hello." The two women smiled, before Edith followed Sherlock into the dingy building. They were met by more scepticism inside the building as well.

"I thought you said she wasn't your girlfriend?" Lestrade asked upon noticing Edith.

"Edith is here to help me." Sherlock told him.

"Right. That's one way of putting it!" the policeman joked.

"Where are we?" Sherlock had switched to business mode, if that was at all possible.

"Upstairs." Lestrade responded to the serious tone.

Sherlock once again proved his genius, giving a detailed account of the poor woman who was lying dead on the floor, including which hand she used, her job and where she came from. Plus the fact that this woman had been involved in a number of romantic affairs that could almost compete with Mary's string of lovers. Suddenly Sherlock was dashing down the stairs yelling suitcase and some nonsense about serial killers and then he was gone. Edith started down the stairs after him, but was met only by an empty street and flashing blue lights. She suddenly felt very alone without her colourful companion.

"He's gone." Sally told her as she neared the tape barrier.

"Yeah, I gathered that." Edith replied.

"So who are you? You can't be his girlfriend, surely?"

"Why does everyone keep assuming that? I only met him yesterday!"

"I suppose it's just such a funny idea; Sherlock with a girlfriend."

"Why?"

"Do you know why he's here? He's not paid or anything, he just likes it. We all think he's a Psychopath, although you won't get him to admit it. So how do you know him?"

"A Mutual acquaintance introduced us. We were both looking for a flat share."

"Wait, you're going to be flatmates with Sherlock Holmes?" Sally's face was a picture of disbelief and surprise. "Good luck with that one!"

* * *

><p><em>TBC...<em>


	5. Chapter 5

Edith paid the cab driver and let herself into Grantham house. There were a few letters on the mat, mostly addressed to her parents. She quickly leafed through them; mainly invitations from other wealthy families who didn't know their Yorkshire address. She then checked the phone for messages. There were two missed calls; one from home and one from Sybil. She called her mum back and then phoned Sybil.

"_Oh, hey Edith. I called Mum earlier; she said that you'd had some trouble readjusting."_

"What?"

"_You know, civilian life and all that. So, how are you?"_

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'd forgotten about it all actually! I've had a busy day. How are you?"

"_Me, oh I'm grand."_

"Grand? Where did you pick that up from?"

"_The soldiers miss you, you know, well the ones you met do anyway."_

"Sybil, don't change the subject. Sybil?"

"_Edith please don't tell papa, it's just that, well, I've met someone. He's a journalist covering events out here. He promised to take me to some anti-war campaigns when I'm on leave."_

"Sybil, you know how much papa hates all that. He's so patriotic."

"_I know, and the fact that Tom is Irish won't do anything to help, but we get on so well. Edith I wish you were still here. It was fab having someone from home to talk to."_

"If it's any consolation, I'm keeping a few secrets as well. I've found myself a flat share with a consulting detective, but I don't want to tell mama 'cause he doesn't know about the title or any of that nonsense, and it feels great to be away from it. If she gets hold of it she'll either invite him to dinner or else she'll come down here."

"_Edith! When did all this happen?"_ Sybil practically squealed down the line.

"Yesterday. I don't know about your situation, but nothing is serious here yet."

"_Yet? Ooh you sound hopeful."_

"Oh, shut up or I'll hang up on you."

"_I don't know if I'm serious either. I mean nothing's happened and he's only gonna be here for another week or so, but I'm determined to meet up with him again. If that counts as serious, then yes, I suppose I am."_

"Good on you honey!"

"_Edith, I really ought to go now. I'm still on duty, but call me if you ever need to talk about stuff. I've seen it all as well!"_

"Okay. Come and see me when you're back."

"_Course I will! I need to check out this flat mate of yours! Anyway, talk soon. Bye!"_

"Bye." Edith flopped onto the sofa, discarding the phone on the coffee table. Sybil was always so energetic, even over the phone. Edith turned on the TV and promptly switched it off again. Eventually she decided that she would make herself something for dinner and have an early night. She got up to go to the kitchen when her phone beeped.

_Dinner?_

_Café on corner of Northumberland Street._

_Could be fun!_

_SH_

Edith smiled at that and quickly got ready to go.

As she entered the café, she wondered whether she should have dressed up for this, but she saw him sitting at a window table in the same suit he had on from earlier. He was staring out across the street.

"Hello," Edith greeted him.

"You look tired."

"I just had a rather animated conversation with my sister."

"But you don't like your sister… Oh! You're a middle child. Of course how did I not see that? Social Insecurities plus a need to be helpful, so obvious."

Edith shrugged and sat down. "How the hell did you get my number?"

"What?"

Edith waved her mobile at him. "I never gave you my number."

"Shot in the dark. Clever though. It irritates Lestrade to no end."

"So what are we doing here?" Edith asked.

"Looking for clues!"

"Clues? I thought we might just be having dinner."

"You can eat if you want," Sherlock replied and signalled the waiter over.

"Are you not eating?"

"No. Don't have time."

"Do you ever eat?" Edith tried to coax a little more explanation from him.

"You're a medical student, what do you think."

"Well, I've never seen you eat anything and you're quite skinny, but as far as I know you might have a girlfriend who is a Sous-Chef at the Ritz." Sherlock laughed at Edith's assumption.

"I don't have a girlfriend," he said through his laughter. "But I do eat, just not necessarily at the same intervals as other people."

"Good." Edith wasn't sure whether it was good that he ate, or good that he didn't have a girlfriend, but now wasn't the time to worry about it because Sherlock was off again.

"Taxi!" he shouted, running out of the door and after the black cab. Edith was now exceedingly glad that she wasn't wearing heels, and that she had been going to the gym recently through lack of inspiring alternatives. Sherlock's long black coat billowed after him as he ran, revealing glimpses of his lithe, athletic figure. Edith mentally berated herself. She really needed to stop thinking about him like that.

At the end of their trek across London Sherlock practically pounced on the Taxi that had stopped opposite the café, but by his reaction Edith could tell that it hadn't been quite what he was looking for.

"Canadian. Good alibi."

"So, you were looking for the murderer, and you thought he was in that taxi?" Edith was slowly catching on.

"Oh, well. It was a long shot anyway. I texted him and told him to come here."

"You texted the murderer?"

"Yes." Sherlock flicked through his messages and showed it to Edith.

_What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out._

_22 Northumberland Street. Please come._

"We may as well go home now though. Have you got your breath back?" Sherlock started in the direction of home.

They made it back to 221B where Sherlock climbed over the coffee table, sat down in a chair and started fiddling with the label on a bright pink suitcase.

"That's it! That's _her_ case." Edith exclaimed.

"Found it earlier. Skip, near Lauriston Gardens. There must be something on here. Do you want to look through it? Seems a bit improper for me to, even if she is dead." He pushed the case towards Edith.

"Ooh, she had a smart phone," Edith said, looking at the label.

"What?"

"A smart phone. My mum's got one. It's the same email address; mephone . org . uk"

"Yes! She was clever. Really clever. Edith, read out the rest of the address." Sherlock leapt up, clapping his hands together and dashed over to his laptop.

"jennie . pink at mephone . org . uk"

He hastily typed it. "A Smart phone, so it's got GPS so you can locate it online if you lose it. She's leading us straight to the killer. Oh, come on." He was talking to the computer now. "Come on! Here, what? How can it be here?"

"Sherlock, dear, your taxi is outside." Mrs Hudson bustled into the room.

"Taxi? I didn't order a taxi." There was a pause while he thought. "Oh. Clever, um yes, taxi. Just popping out for a moment, won't be long." He slowly began to descend the stairs.

"Sherlock?" Edith called after him. "You alright?"

"Fine, just err… Edith, keep your phone on and the GPS tracker going."

She stood at the window and watched as he climbed into the taxi and sped off into the night. Edith checked the tracker again and was amazed to see that it had disappeared with her eccentric flat mate. Sally Donovan had said that Sherlock was a Psychopath, but Edith couldn't bring herself to think what was seemingly obvious. After a while her phone bleeped.

_Follow me._

_Use tracker._

_Could be dangerous_

_SH_

* * *

><p><em>Thank you to EOlivet for beta-ing and to The Yankee Countess and That'sLadySeaMonsterToYou for reviewing! :)<em>

_TBC..._


	6. Chapter 6

_I'm skipping some parts of the story, but hopefully it still makes sense. Please let me know if it gets too confusing. :)_

* * *

><p>Edith had done as Sherlock had asked and followed him. A cab, outside the higher education college, devoid of occupants, confirmed that she was at the right place, but gave her no indication of where they were now. She ran through the darkened building, her footsteps echoing down the dreary halls. She tried calling his name, but to no avail. Half the doors were locked, each one saving her precious seconds of peering into darkness before moving on to the next one. She ran up the stairs and along another corridor. A light in one of the rooms caught her eye. She burst through the door to find the light coming from the identical room of the other building, Sherlock's lean frame was visible, but he had company. She didn't have time to reach him. Whatever had to be done, had to be done from here.<p>

~X~

Sherlock spun around, clambering over the desk to look closely at the shattered pane of glass. He then focused his gaze to beyond the window, to the building opposite. No one was there, everything looked so peaceful, yet someone had just shot a murderer from the very window that he was now staring at. Had it been Edith? She was the only one who would have known where he was, unless the old man had more enemies out there than he had let on. Sherlock stood up a bit straighter. Why was he hoping that it had been Edith?

~X~

Edith had immediately moved away from the window, but for now she was just leaning against the wall to one side. She was breathing heavily, knowing full well that she ought to get out of there before she was caught. Quickly she gathered her bag, closed the window and ran back along the corridor. Luckily she had been wearing a pair of leather driving gloves that Sybil had given her, so hopefully there were no finger prints on the window. It would be stupid getting caught, especially since she had been the person to call the police on her way here.

Sherlock was sitting in an ambulance, with a red blanket draped around his shoulders and DI Lestrade slating him about withholding evidence, when Edith saw him next.

"No sign of the shooter?" Sherlock asked Lestrade.

"None whatsoever. They cleared off before we got here." The detective Inspector replied.

"Shame. Whoever it was is a crack shot. The distance between the buildings, wouldn't have been easy to cover with a small gun. Probably has a history of military service." He stopped himself before he said too much. "It'll be interesting to hear what ballistics has to say."

"Sherlock!" Lestrade was exasperated with Sherlock's non-wavering attitude. "You are not on the case."

"Oh, I'll find out." He smiled.

"What's all this?" Edith tugged on the blanket a little, causing Sherlock to jump.

"Oh, I'm in shock apparently."

"Yes, I can see that." Edith chuckled. "You jumped."

"I did not!" He said indignantly.

"You did. Now what about some food?" She gestured that they go, and Lestrade walked off in the other direction. Sherlock got up and flung the blanket into a nearby police car, and followed Edith away from the crime scene. Once they were out of hearing distance he stopped and turned to her.

"Edith."

"Yes?"

"Good Shot." She could tell by his voice it was a compliment and thanks.

"Must have been," she said breezily.

"You'd know." He smirked at her, and she couldn't prevent herself from wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Oh, Sherlock I'm glad you're okay." She told him, pulling back again. "I was worried for a minute there that I would have to pay the rent on my own."

"Edith, are you alright?" He asked, puzzled by her actions, but feeling uncharacteristically glad. She nodded. "Are you sure? You have just killed a man."

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just bloody starving!"

"There's a good Chinese on the corner of Baker Street that stays open 'till two. Do you like Chinese food?"

"Yes. Although, I don't think Mrs Hudson will have the room ready yet, so I'll have to get back to where I was staying." As they approached the main road, Edith could see Sherlock scanning the surroundings in search of a taxi. "I'd have thought that after tonight you would never trust a taxi driver ever again."

This time they did actually sit down and have a meal together. Edith begged that Sherlock reciprocate, and provide her with similar information about himself to what he already knew about her. So whilst munching through a pile of prawn crackers she learnt that he was the youngest in his family, Sherrinford was the eldest and Mycroft was the middle one. Sherlock and Mycroft had a similar feud to the one Edith had with Mary. They then had a lively conversation about travel destinations and places they had visited. Both had been born in Yorkshire, but while Edith had remained there, Sherlock had travelled with his parents to France and to America. They could both boast of holidays to Italy and Greece, although with limited enjoyment of the trips.

"So, hobbies."

"I'm sorry?" Edith looked up from her noodles.

"You already know that I play the violin when I'm thinking and that I hold an interest in science. So what are your interests?"

"Err, well I play the piano, and I suppose I read sometimes. I've been going to the gym recently, but there's nothing really that holds my interest for any length of time, unless arguing with Mary counts as a hobby."

"What about concerts and plays and such like?"

"I enjoy them, but I find it more enjoyable if you have company. Do you have time for such trivialities?" She joked.

"I like concerts, orchestral stuff mainly. In fact I went to a wonderful violin concerto last week."

They continued to talk about music until the restaurant closed and Sherlock hailed another cab for Edith to get home. Once she was back at Grantham House, Edith collapsed onto her bed. It was well into the early hours of the morning, and she was exhausted from a long and tiring day, but it had been one of the best of her life.

* * *

><p><em>TBC...<em>


	7. Part 2 Shades of Green

Edith woke to see the digits on her alarm clock blinking back at her, already 11.17. She allowed herself some time to wake up properly before taking a shower and getting dressed. She pulled her ginger curls back into a tight ponytail and began work on the task ahead. Most of her belongings were still at her family home in Yorkshire, but the stuff she had brought with her seemed to be scattered all round the house. Having managed to fit most of her clothes into one large suitcase along with a few other personal effects, she then decided that she would have a cup of tea and a late lunch.

In the afternoon she made her way back to 221B and settled herself into the second bedroom. By the time she'd finished, the room certainly looked more homely*, with cushions and pictures scattered around. Happy with her day's work, she sat down with a book when Sherlock dashed in. He firstly went into the kitchen but eventually Edith became aware that he was sitting in the squishy black chair next to the fire place.

"Good day?" She asked casually.

"The bullet they found could have been obtained from any country store that sells that type of thing. A lot of guns take them, and that is where ballistics intends to leave it. I'd assumed you had a service revolver, but obviously I was wrong. So why do you have a gun for country sports?"

"It was a 21st birthday present from my dad. He still organises shoots, and he likes for us all to attend. I never had a gun in Afghanistan; I suppose I was only there for three weeks so it wasn't worth training me up." Edith explained.

"But you had a license already, and you're obviously not fazed at all by them. Your hand couldn't have shaken at all."

"Have you spent the whole day pondering over this?" She asked laughingly.

"It's not everyday that you find yourself sharing a flat with someone who can handle a gun well, let alone a woman who can." Sherlock commented. If anyone else had said it Edith would have, at the very least, feigned outrage, but coming from Sherlock, it felt like a commendation. Edith had never received any compliments for her shooting before. Of course everyone commented on the ease and grace that Mary retained, even when shooting.

~x~ **Part 2- The Emerald Conundrum/Jade and Emerald/Shades of Green.**

The rest of the week passed in a blur. A couple of times she went out with Sherlock to St. Bartholomew's where he was experimenting, but mainly she stayed at 221B. She had already become accustomed to her new home and since she'd had a week to firmly make her mind up she decided to call home to ask what to do about Grantham House.

"Sister, dear!" Edith exclaimed as Mary answered the phone. Sherlock smirked at the greeting, before slinking out of the room.

"_You sound cheerful." _

"I was hoping to speak to Mum."

"_She's just here, but after you've spoken with her I've got some news regarding E.N"_ Mary passed the phone over.

"_Hello darling."_ Cora greeted Edith. _"How are you?"_

"I'm fine. How are you, and daddy?"

"_We are all well. It's nice having your sister home again."_

"Talking of home," Edith quickly interjected before her mother started telling her all about Mary, "I've found myself a flat share, so I was wondering what to do about Grantham house."

"_A flat share? Edith, are you sure that that is a good idea?"_

"Mum, it's great! I get on really well with Sherlock, and I can help him with his work. Plus it keeps me busy, and Dad can tell you that keeping your brain active was one of the things that the Psychiatrist suggested."

"_You're living with a man, unmarried?" _

"Oh, please, this is the twenty first century, and Mrs Hudson, our landlady keeps us well looked after. She's like the Mrs Hughes of 221B Baker Street, except she'll protest that she's not a housekeeper. She wouldn't let anything untoward happen."

"_Edith."_ Her mother sounded worried.

"Mum, truly it's fine. I've been here a week now, and I love it!"

"_Well, I'll need to speak with your father about the house. I think he has business in London in a few weeks. Mary is standing here signalling for me to give her the phone, so I'll call you another time. Is it better to call your mobile?" _

"Yeah, otherwise you'd have to go through Mrs Hudson."

"_Okay darling. Look after yourself_."

"_What the hell was that about? You were talking for ages and Mum now looks terrified." _Mary was back on the line.

"I told her that I've got a flat share."

"_A what?"_

"Flat share. You know, where two people move in together to avoid paying more rent."

"_That makes perfect sense when you can live at home for free. Anyway, Evelyn Napier called me yesterday and asked if I was in London. I told him that I wasn't but you were. Apparently his date has stood him up, and they were going to some play or opera or something. I thought you wouldn't mind. The only problem is that I told him you were at Grantham House. I'll have to call him. What is your new address?"_

"221B Baker Street. It's next to Speedy's café so you can't miss it!"

"_Okay, darling I'll tell him."_

"Mary, wait! When is it?"

"_Tonight. You'll be ready, won't you?"_

"You could have given me some notice!" Edith glanced at the clock. "It's nearly twelve now!"

"_As you well know, I am not a morning person. That was always Sybil's trait. Anyway…"_ Mary lapsed into the details of the evening and Edith quickly jotted a few things down on the back of an envelope, along with Evelyn's mobile number. It was good to have a night out to look forward to, but Mary did like dropping her in it sometimes.

* * *

><p><em>TBC...<em>

_*By homely I mean cozy and comfortable. EOlivet and I were debating the meaning!_

_Thank you to The Arcticourt Spellwright for the review! :)_


	8. Chapter 8

_Sorry for taking ages. I had a mental block with one of the future chapters & didn't want to publish this until I'd sorted it. Also been busy with work etc._

_Enjoy :)_

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><p>A swathe of emerald fabric brought Sherlock out of his reverie. Edith was clad in a long evening gown, which rustled slightly as she padded barefoot across the room and into the kitchen. A pair of Jimmy Choo's and matching clutch bag lay by the door. Her back was to him as she fastened her earrings. Her hair was straightened, and gently pulled back by a diamond clip. She poured herself a small glass of water, turning slightly as she did so, and drank carefully. She was wearing make up, subtle but pretty. Sherlock was staring now. Edith – his flat share – looked as if she had walked straight out of a designer shop window. Somebody looking for a flat share wouldn't waste money on clothes like these, and probably wouldn't go anywhere that required that person to wear them. Edith turned around to reveal a low neckline, a narrow V. Her coy smile at his obvious stare went unnoticed as she walked back across the room.<p>

"I didn't mean to disturb you." Edith apologised.

She had painted her toenails, but they were not fully dry, so this was rushed. She hadn't been planning this outing for long, so she must have already owned the dress, unless she had gone shopping instead of painting her toenails? Sherlock watched as she slipped her feet into the shoes and fiddled with the tiny buckle. Grabbing her bag, she then glanced at the delicate watch around her wrist. More diamonds, and it all looked so genuine. What was happening? Sherlock shook his head; was Edith rich?

"Evelyn said he would be here at seven, so I'll wait downstairs. Probably see you tomorrow." She gave him a casual wave as she left.

Evelyn? Uncommon name, especially for a man. Sounds posh. Was he Edith's boyfriend? Sherlock realised he had never really inquired into that side of her personal life. He stood up and walked to the window as he heard a taxi pull up. The man who got out was wearing a good suit, and had his hair combed back. He kissed Edith politely on the cheek and allowed her to get into the taxi. Sherlock watched them go. Why was he even interested? He flopped back onto the sofa to return to his thoughts, but he could only think of Edith. Something was wrong. He must have missed something huge. Sally Donovan's words came slowly drifting back to him.

"_Any relation to the scandalous Mary Crawley?"_

Scandalous? Just gone through a divorce. There must be news reports. Sherlock typed the woman's name into Google, drumming his fingers on the table as he waited for the search. As it came up, one word from the screen caught his eye more than the rest.

News report: _**Lady**__ Mary Crawley splits from Carlisle._

Article: _**Lady**__ Mary scandal. _

Wikipedia:_**Lady**__ Mary Crawley_

Interview:_ Who will be the next man in line for __**Lady**__ Mary Crawley?_

Sherlock pulled up the Wikipedia page and scanned the contents. He stopped at the sub-heading 'family', where a picture of three girls caught his eye. The haughty woman in the middle had to be Mary. She had well defined features and dark hair that was elegantly styled. The other girl, Sherlock could only assume to be Edith's younger sister. Her wild curls cascaded over her shoulders and covered most of the purple dress she was wearing. Then there was Edith. She looked sad and some what distant from the other two. Her ginger curls, tighter than her sister's chocolate ringlets, and her muddy green eyes meant that she was by far the least striking. The caption stated clearly 'Lady Mary and her sisters Lady Edith and Lady Sybil.'

Sherlock leaned back in the chair. Edith was a Lady? He leant forward again suddenly skimming over the family history, reading the names, the places, the facts.

~X~

Edith clambered out of the cab, opened the door and somehow stumbled up the stairs. She quietly opened the door to the living room, knowing that it was past midnight and found Sherlock staring bleary eyed at his laptop.

"I didn't think you would still be up." She half whispered across the room.

"Is he your boyfriend?" Sherlock yawned.

"Who, Evelyn? No! His date stood him up; I got called in as a last resort."

"So how do you know him?"

"He's a friend of Mary's. Once upon a time, she thought he was a good match for her, but it was all about the money. I think you should go to bed."

"Edith, Is it true your father is the Earl of Grantham?"

"Yes." Her voice was suddenly small.

"So you're rich."

"My family is. A lot of the money is tied up in the estate, Granddad ensured that. I'd imagine a sum has been put aside for Sybil and me, but I have no idea how much. Sybil doesn't care. I think she feels confined by the unspoken etiquette and expectations, and to some extent I do too. Why do you ask?"

"The dress. Expensive make." Sherlock muttered, looking her over again. Edith shivered slightly under his gaze.

"Well, Good night." Edith slowly made her way to her bedroom. As she slipped her dress off and placed it back in the wardrobe she considered her evening. Evelyn had been polite, attentive and considerate, buying her drinks and chatting all evening, but one look from Sherlock made Edith feel more appreciated and more treasured than she ever had before. She pushed her feet into her fluffy slippers relishing the comfort after wearing heels and walked to the bathroom. After carefully removing her make-up and brushing her teeth she wandered back to her bedroom and snuggled under the duvet. She reached over to turn her phone off, when she noticed a text from Sybil.

_Mary said you're acting as stand in date for Evelyn. Is flat mate jealous? Coming home next week for training, Might pop round to check him out ;) I'll call you. Xx_

* * *

><p><em>TBC...<em>

_Thanks to JulciaDaria for the review and to everyone who has favorited and alerted this fic! It means so much! :)_


	9. Chapter 9

_If I don't mention the fact I forgot about this, maybe no-one will throw things at me..._

_ Anyway, sorry about the wait!_

_Thank you so much to EOlivet, as always, and to That'sLadySeaMonsterToYou, RodricksSlaves and DonnaDonnaNoble for their lovely comments._

_Enjoy :)_

* * *

><p>Edith's scream reverberated around the flat, causing Sherlock to come running from his own room.<p>

"What? What is it?" His voice was still hoarse from sleep.

"Sherlock!" She gripped the sleeve of his dressing gown. "There's… There's… Oh my god, there's a head in the fridge."

"Oh." He paused. "I thought something terrible had happened."

Edith laughed nervously. "A head, Sherlock. Why can't you just stock up with food like normal people?" Sherlock's text alert meant he didn't reply. Still allowing Edith her claim on his arm, he reached for his phone, and quickly read the message.

"We could go to the supermarket later if we need to, but first I need to go to the bank."

When Sherlock said 'bank' Edith naturally assumed cash machine or local Barclays. Instead they were going up one of the vast number of escalators of the Shad Sanderson. They were greeted at the top by an old acquaintance of Sherlock's who, like the rest, was surprised to see Edith as well.

"Never thought we'd see you with a woman." Sebastien commented to Sherlock, before he turned to Edith. "We were at Uni together, and this guy had a trick he could do where he'd tell you your whole life story. We all hated him for it. Anyway, it's good to see that you've settled down!"

Edith was going to protest that they weren't a couple but Sherlock took control of the situation. "Well, you're obviously not doing badly yourself. Two trips around the world this month."

"See! He's doing it again." Sebastien exclaimed, as if he had just claimed an important victory and then proceeded to give a mock analysis of ketchup on his tie and mud on his shoes.

"Actually I was just talking to your secretary. She told me." Sherlock smoothly replied, and Edith had a hard job of stifling her giggles. However, Sebastien fell for it and led them to the room that had been broken into. The only disturbance seemed to be a symbol of paint splashed across the wall and one of the pictures. Edith watched Sherlock walk out onto the balcony and then walk out of the office. Edith followed him until he turned round and sighed. He walked back to Edith and manhandled her to one side before returning to his original position and looking towards the offensive artwork. He continued dashing around the desks and Edith zoned out, so it made her jump when Sherlock appeared behind her and whispered:

"Van Coon. Come on."

As they made their way out of the building Edith couldn't help but ask, "So how did you know? Two trips around the world and all that?"

"Did you see his watch? The time was right, but the date was wrong. It said two days ago; crossed the dateline twice and didn't change it."

"Then how did you know it was within a month?"

"New Breitling. Only came out in February." Sherlock pulled up the online phonebook on his mobile and searched for Edward Van Coon. It didn't take him long to find the address, and soon they were standing outside the apartment with Sherlock impatiently buzzing the intercom.

"What do we do now?" Edith asked when there was no answer.

"New Label. Floor above, just moved in."

"They might have replaced it."

"No one ever does that." He buzzed the flat. A lady answered, confirming to Sherlock that she was new to the building and amicably offered to let him in. It was only when Sherlock asked to used her balcony that her tone changed slightly.

Having watched Sherlock jump off the woman's balcony, Edith went down a floor and waited outside the apartment. After a few minutes Sherlock appeared from inside.

"Call the police. Van Coon is dead." Sherlock went straight back into the flat, observing everything before the Detective Inspector arrived. "Where's Lestrade?" Sherlock immediately looked on the new Policeman with contempt.

"He's on holiday. I'm in charge for now. Detective Inspector Dimmock." He held out a hand to Sherlock who ignored the gesture and walked through into the other room. Edith offered the man an apologetic smile and then followed Sherlock.

"What do you think?" Sherlock asked after the dead man had been seized up by swarms of men in uniform.

"Suicide." Dimmock promptly announced. Edith looked at Sherlock, who rolled his eyes and walked after the other man.

"That's one possible explanation of some of the facts. You've got a solution that you like, and so you are choosing to ignore anything that doesn't comply."

"Like what?"

"Like the fact that he has been shot in the right side of his head, which requires quite a lot of effort for someone who is left handed." Sherlock mockingly demonstrated how hard it was.

"Left handed?" The inspector questioned.

"How could you not have seen that? Coffee table on the left hand side of the sofa, with the coffee mug handle pointing to the left. There's a note book next to the phone, on the left hand side, because he picks the phone up with his right and takes notes with his left. Then plug sockets, he habitually uses the ones on the left, not to mention the knife on the bread board, which has butter on the right hand side of it because he uses it with his left hand. So, why would a left handed man shoot himself in the right side of his head? Answer he didn't. Someone broke in here and shot him. Only explanation of all the facts."

"Then why did we find a gun next to him?"

"It was his gun. He was waiting for the killer. He'd been threatened."

"How do you know that?" Dimmock asked.

"Today, at the bank, there was some kind of message." Edith tried to explain.

"Look, if you'd just take my word as gospel, we might get through this a lot quicker, not to mention you might learn something!" Sherlock snapped at Dimmock. "Let me know the ballistics report. Come on Edith."

~X~

Back at 221B the pair of them stood in front of the fireplace, above which Sherlock had pinned the image of the cipher. Sherlock was muttering to himself over what it could possibly mean.

"It looks a bit like Chinese, doesn't it?" Edith commented. Sherlock sat up a little straighter, alert to the fact that she might be right, but looked over in annoyance when her phone started ringing. "Hello Dad!" Knowing how much her flat mate appreciated silence while he was thinking, she headed towards her bedroom.

"_Edith, I was wondering if you could do me a favour?"_ Edith felt her step falter. She was NOT going to go round London looking for more jewellery for Mary. She'd done enough of that for a lifetime. Whatever he said she was not going to do it! _"Do you know any elements beginning with 'D'?"_

"Elements?" She repeated, surprised by her father's request. "Err, hang on." She went into Sherlock's room and glanced at the periodic table that he had on his wall. "Why?"

"_I'm doing a crossword, and the internet is down." _

"I swear your internet connection never works properly!" She sat down on the edge of Sherlock's bed, still scanning the various periods and groups. "Dubrium?"

"_No, doesn't fit." _

"Dysprosium?"

"What are you doing in here?" Sherlock asked. Edith held her phone away to answer him.

"Dad's doing a crossword. I was looking up elements beginning with 'D'." She then went back to her phone call, "Sorry Dad."

"_How do you spell that?" _

"D. Y. S. P." She was interrupted by Sherlock's sceptical laughter.

"_Edith, what was that?"_

"Nothing. It's just Sherlock."

"_What is he doing?"_

Edith looked round at her flat mate. "Just staring at me at the moment."

"_Why?"_

"I think it's because he can recite the periodic table in his sleep, or else because I'm intruding where I'm not meant to be."

"_Why, where are you?"_

"In his bedroom." Edith smiled sweetly at Sherlock, who was signalling for her to get out.

"_Your mother wouldn't be happy about that!" Her father joked._

"Only to look up the answer to your question! Where were we up to?"

"_P"_

"Okay, then R. O. S…"

"I. U. M. Now get out." Sherlock finished quickly.

"Sorry dad, was there anything else you wanted me to look up?" She asked, walking back to the living room.

"_No, darling, that was it. Oh, your mother did want me to ask you to dinner for Easter. Matthew and Isobel will be there, as well as your grandmother, of course. Also Sybil's got leave and has asked if she can bring her new boyfriend to meet us. I don't know anything about him yet, Sybil hasn't really said anything. Has she said anything to you?"_

"No." It wasn't exactly a lie; it was just a way of giving her sister more time to prepare for the fireworks when she introduced the two men properly.

"_Never mind. Anyway, is there anyone you would like to invite?"_

"Well, I could always ask Sherlock." There was a loud crash from the other room. "That's if he hasn't destroyed the place first."

"_Edith, is this man safe for you to be sharing a flat with?"_

"Yes, dad, he's fine."

"_Are you sure?"_

"Let's just say there's never a dull moment! I better go and see what happened. Shall I call you back?"

"_No, it's fine. Just let your mother know in advance how many to expect for dinner."_

"Okay Dad, bye."

* * *

><p><em>TBC...<em>

_What did you think?_


	10. Chapter 10

_Aparently someone in the US has had a similar idea to me and has replaced Watson with a woman. Oooh. Unfortunately I doubt it will be Edith._

_Thank you so much to EOlivet, JulciaDaria and DonnaDonnaNoble for their continued support with this fic. I really struggled with this chapter, but I hope it's okay!_

_Hope you enjoy, and, as always, I'd love to know what you think ;)_

* * *

><p>Edith re-entered the room to find Sherlock standing in the midst of chaos, his bookcase lay on its side and books covered the floor, violently flicking through a heavy volume of Chinese Script. Edith bent down and picked up a few of the disarrayed books, and piled them neatly on his bed. Sherlock suddenly jabbed his finger against the page.<p>

"Chinese numbers. Ancient Chinese numbers. Edith, how did you know?"

"Long story!" She truly thought he wouldn't want to know, but he continued to look at her with interest. She sighed. "When Mary took up Greek, I got so wound up because I didn't know what she was saying that I decided that I wanted to learn Chinese. I suppose it was retaliation, but our governess didn't know any Chinese so I rummaged around in my dad's Library, until eventually I found something I could possibly learn it from. My determination faded and I got so confused with all the symbols and stuff that I gave up."

"You've got us onto the right track though, even if it isn't the whole message."

"Oh, talking of messages, my dad wanted to know if you would like to come to Downton for Easter."

"Yes, okay." He said jumping over the bed, causing Edith's neatly stacked books to, once again, clatter to the floor.

"Really? I mean that's great." Edith tried to backtrack from her surprise at his immediate answer. "I just thought you might have other family obligations."

"We don't celebrate." He walked out of the door.

"Not at all?" Edith called after him.

He stuck his head back round the door. "Mycroft usually gives me a solitary cigarette each year at Christmas, but that's the extent of it for our family. I expect you are used to a massive Christmas tree and paper chains strung everywhere." He inclined his head, indicating for Edith to join him, and stood before the fireplace again. "So what can I expect for Easter?"

"Well, this year you can probably expect pandemonium. Sybil is bringing her new Irish boyfriend to meet the family, and I can't see our father taking a liking to him. Other than that it will probably be dinner and an influx of opinions from my grandmother."

"So that's 8 people. Anyone else I should know about?"

"Mary"

"Included."

"Our cousin Matthew and his mother, and possibly my aunt, Rosamund, but she might stay in London."

~X~

The following morning, Edith sat down, opposite Sherlock, with a bowl of mixed fruit and a cup of tea. Sherlock simply had a cup of black coffee and his laptop open in front of him.

"Look at that." He spun the laptop around for her to read.

"The intruder who can walk through walls." She mumbled between mouthfuls of pineapple.

"Hmm, he's killed another one. A journalist who has been writing about China. China, again. Van Coon had the Hong Kong assignment, now Lukis. It's the one thing they have in common. I need to go to his apartment, see what else connects these two men. Wear something nice, we may need to convince that Dimmock chap to let us in."

~X~

Dressed in Skinny Jeans, a pretty cream top & her brown leather jacket, Edith followed Sherlock and DI Dimmock into the flat. It was a mess, with books, clothes and beer bottles scattered about. Thinking about Van Coon, Edith looked around to see if she could detect which hand the man used. She'd just decided on right handed, when Sherlock started talking about scaling buildings and announced that the killer had climbed in through the skylight. Dimmock ridiculed the idea, making Edith cringe. Sherlock just ignored him and, looking away from the window, fixed his gazed on the books on the stairs. He stooped, pick one up, carried on down the stairs and out of the door. Edith sighed. She assumed that he'd gone off on his own again, like he had in Brixton. Still she followed his path out of the building and found him waiting for her on the pavement. Her heart jumped a little as he smiled at her before turning to hail a taxi.

The short journey was made in silence. Edith appreciated that her companion was working and she gave him space. They pulled up at West Kensington Library.

"The date stamped on the book is the same day that he died. Come." He held the door for her, first of the taxi and then of the impressive building where they were met by more escalators. They got directions to where the book would usually have been stored from a lady at the reception desk and quickly found the right shelf.

"So what are we looking for?"

"Anything. By the way the book had been discarded on the stairs; I'd say this was the last public place Lukis visited, and likely to be where he got the message." Sherlock began taking books off the shelf, Edith look round behind her and did the same. Soon enough she saw the familiar yellow scrawl.

"Sherlock." Her tone easily conveyed the seriousness of the matter. He whipped round, taking more books off the shelf to reveal the rest of the message; exactly the same as the graffiti at the bank.

~X~

"So the killer goes to the bank, leaves a threatening cipher for Van Coon. Van Coon panics, returns to his apartment, locks himself in and hours later he dies." Back on the streets of London, Sherlock begins to sum the case up.

"The killer finds Lukis at the Library. He writes the cipher on the shelf where he knows it will be seen. Lukis goes home and later that night he dies too." Edith continues. "Why did they die, Sherlock?"

"I don't know yet." The words were clipped with irritation. "Edith, I need you to go to the Police station and get hold of Lukis' diary or something to tell us his movements. I'm going to see Van Coon's P.A. If we retrace their steps, something will coincide." With that he strode off down the busy street, leaving Edith to make her own way to Scotland Yard.

* * *

><p><em>TBC...<em>


	11. Chapter 11

_Thank you to everyone who is reading, alerting, favoriting etc, but especially to DonnaDonnaNoble and Linnadra for reviewing._

_Also, thought it's best to let you know that things might be slowing up for a while cos I've got exams. Sorry!_

_Enjoy :)_

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><p>"What on Earth?" Edith exclaimed as Sherlock burst through the door with two large boxes.<p>

"Books." He said, putting them down on the floor then stepping over them and walking further into the room. "Every book belonging to Van Coon and every book belonging to Lukis."

"Oh, because that makes perfect sense!" She snapped, sarcastically.

"Where do you want these?" One of the policemen asked from the door.

"Anywhere." Sherlock replied, opening up his laptop.

Edith watched as more boxes were brought up, and shifted the original two so that they were no longer in the way of the door. "Care to explain?" she asked, once the other men had left. Sherlock moved his head to indicate he was listening, but didn't actually look at her. Sighing in frustration she carried on. "First we retrace the steps of two dead men and end up in china town, then I have a row with a police officer, because you want someone to patrol a Chinese gift shop, and he threatens to charge me with wasting police time, while you get some 'help' on painting from some hooligan and tell me that you'll meet me here in an hour."

"So?"

"So, that was this morning, or early afternoon, or something, and now I'm tired and I don't understand why the flat now looks like we are collecting for charity." She waved her hand in the direction of the books.

"I've got some people looking out for more traces of the paint. Then I talked to someone at the National Antiques Museum. She confirmed that Van Coon and Lukis were both smugglers and the Lucky Cat is their drop off point, but she also told me about the code. It's a book code! The numbers, they're always in pairs, to give you the page, and then the word. All we have to do is to find the right book." Sherlock took two books out of the top box, and started sifting through. "Edith, I need you to help me. Make yourself a coffee and a sandwich, and then sit here." He took a note pad and a pen out of the desk draw. "Any books I give you write down the first word on the 15th page. Somehow we'll find it."

~X~

Edith wanted to shut her eyes and sleep, but there were so many books left to sort out. She found herself staring absentmindedly at Sherlock in his dark purple shirt, when her phone rang. Upturning a number of books, she answered it sleepily.

"Hello?"

"Is that Edith Crawley, Sybil's sister?"

"Yes, why who is this?"

"My name's Tom. I'm Sybil's boyfriend. Look, Sybil's had an accident at army training and we're now in Winchester Hospital. She's awake, but she's got concussion and they've recommended that she goes home. The problem is Sybil doesn't want to face a car journey to Yorkshire, or her dad. Your dad, sorry. Anyway she wondered if you could maybe help? I could check us into a hotel if not but…"

"Wait, wait wait, what?" Edith stopped the young man.

"Sybil has got concussion."

"Yeah, I got that. Are you trying to ask if she can stay here?" In her sleepy state and his clear panic, they were going to have to take this conversation slowly.

"Yes, if that's okay."

"Err, I should think that's fine. Shall I meet you at the hospital?"

"Um, I suppose that would be best."

"Is this Sybil's mobile?"

"Yup."

"Right, I'll call you when I'm nearer."

"Okay. See you in a bit." He hung up, and Edith willed herself to wake up, and process what was going on. Quickly she grabbed her handbag and pulled on her boots.

"I'm going out for a bit. I'll probably have company when I get back." She got a murmur in response from Sherlock, who piled another two books on the desk next to her list. She rolled her eyes at him and clattered down the stairs, shutting the front door behind her. Edith shivered, and pulled her coat tighter around herself as she walked to the tube station, hoping desperately that tubes ran at whatever time it was. She managed to get to Waterloo, where she found a train bound for Winchester. On the train she cringed at her weary reflection on her phone, and tried to neaten herself up, before sitting back and watching London crawl past.

The stop-start journey was getting a bit tedious. It seemed like late night trains had a tendency to stop at more stations, most of which were empty anyway, but as they rattled into one of these stations, something caught Edith's eye. She abandoned her seat and walked along the train until she was directly opposite it; a wall painted with the same Chinese numbers, in the same yellow paint. She took a picture and sent it to Sherlock with a short message of 'Hope this helps! Xx'

~X~

Edith got a taxi from the station to the hospital and called Tom, on her way there. On arrival she spoke to a receptionist and was shown to Sybil's room.

"Edith!" Sybil exclaimed. "Oh, God I was so happy when Tom got hold of you. I wasn't sure if you'd still be up, but I really didn't want to call home."

"Sybil, it's okay. So what happened?"

"I'm not really sure. I thought I walked into something – like the assault course, but someone told me that I'd been hit round the head by someone's rifle. Anyway, I was moved from onsite to here pretty quickly and Tom turned up before I was conscious. We'd arranged to meet up and when I didn't show, he came looking for me. I don't know how he got in, but he'd be able to talk himself into anywhere if necessary. He's just gone for a coffee, so he'll be back in a minute. So, why were you up?"

"Oh, I was helping Sherlock sort books out. He doesn't believe in sleep when he's working."

"Ah, that's not good. Ooh coffee!" Tom walked in with a steaming cup, which Sybil quickly took from him, with a subtle flutter of eyelashes, and sipped at it greedily.

"You shouldn't be drinking that, if you've got concussion." Edith reprimanded her.

"I know, but I've been craving it since I woke up." She handed the cup back. "Edith, this is Tom. Tom, this is Edith." Sybil noticed his wary look. "Don't worry, she's not like Mary. She won't murder you. At the moment she's living in London with, um, well, someone who hasn't been flung at one of us."

Edith laughed. "His name is Sherlock. He's a consulting detective."

"I think I've seen his website; it was about tobacco or something." Tom commented.

"Yeah, I keep telling him to change it, but he won't."

"Does he smoke?" Sybil asked quickly, her nursing instinct appearing again.

"I think he would given half the chance. Thankfully he just covers himself in nicotine patches."

"Will he mind if Sybil stays with you?" Tom asked.

"No. He'll probably be working anyway, so I'll apologise in advance for the flat being a mess. When are you allowed out?"

"They wanted to get rid of me earlier, but I told them that the only place I could go was Yorkshire, so they let me stay. They didn't want me to have such a long journey." Sybil explained.

"Oh, are you allowed on a train? I didn't think about that on the way here."

"Don't know really, but Tom could drive us." Sybil looked at her boyfriend, who nodded.

* * *

><p><em>TBC...<em>


	12. Chapter 12

_I have lots of wonderful people to thank for reviews for the last chapter: DonnaDonnaNoble, Stella Celeste Taylor, hillevi, aussiegirl97 and SeveranDynasty. Sorry that this one has taken so long! Thank you also to EOlivet for helping me clear up some issues with the chapter._

_Enjoy :)_

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><p>The journey home took much longer. Getting through London was particularly bad in a car. Eventually they reached 221B and Edith knocked on the door, having forgotten her keys earlier due to the sleepy state in which she left the house.<p>

"Hello?" Mrs Hudson answered the door. "Oh, Edith. Sherlock told me you were out."

"Um, yeah. Mrs Hudson this is my sister, Sybil, and her boyfriend. They might be staying here for a bit."

"Yes dear."

Edith led them upstairs and installed Sybil in her bedroom. She left Tom sitting with her sister while she went to find something to eat. Sherlock was in the kitchen playing with chemicals.

"Well, have you solved it?" Edith asked, taking a yoghurt out of the fridge.

"Yes. It was bisulphate of baryta." He replied.

"Oh." Edith was fighting to keep her eyes open. "Was that the book?"

"No, just the salt. You should get some sleep."

"I can't. I'm on Sybil duty."

"I'll keep on eye on her. Go on. My room is free."

"Maybe just for a little while." She yawned. "So what was the book?"

"A to Z of London. We've got a little trip out later, but you need to sleep first." Edith allowed him to lead her to his bedroom.

"Where?"

"Circus." Sherlock smiled and left her.

~X~

Edith woke up, feeling both secure but unfamiliar with her surroundings, feeling strange in his room, in _his _bed. She'd slept almost all day, and felt refreshed and rather excited about what the evening could bring. Sybil seemed brighter as well. Edith fixed her some toast and gave her some paracetamol, before rummaging around the room for the top she was planning to wear that evening.

"So is this your first date then?" Sybil asked coyly.

"What, with Sherlock?" Edith replied with her head in the wardrobe. "I hardly think this counts as a date."

"I think it does." Sybil sat up more fully.

"Does dinner out at 2.00 in the morning count?"

"Depends. How long had you known him, and how romantic was it?"

"Have you met Sherlock?" Edith looked at her sister. "He doesn't really do 'romantic' and I'd probably known him one or two days."

"Then no."

Edith disappeared into the bathroom to change quickly, before picking some earrings and applying a bit of make up. "Well, will I do?" She asked Sybil.

"You look really pretty Edith. It suits you here."

"Thank you. And you're right, it does suit me."

"And I'm right that it's your first date! I wish I could come though. I love the circus."

"Will you be alright here?" Edith asked.

"Yeah, sure, besides I've got Tom to look after me."

"Okay." Edith looked in the mirror for the final time. "See you later."

"Have fun!" Sybil called after her.

~X~

"Performing in London for only one night, coinciding with the murder of two men, recently returned from China, who were both killed by an expert acrobat. That's not just chance, surely. They were sent here to recover something."

"So they're an angry mob of Chinese smugglers." Edith lowered her voice as they entered the hall and collected their tickets. "What are the two of us going to be able to do about it, even if we can prove that?" She watched as Sherlock took in every tiny detail of the room before he answered her.

"We'll find a way. Just watch for now." He whispered as the music started.

As the show went on, Edith turned to comment to Sherlock, only to find he'd vanished. She'd gotten caught up in all the drama in front of her, and forgotten momentarily why they were actually there. She looked through the crowd, a skill she had picked up at her parents extravagant parties from when she was younger, for any sign of Sherlock. Across the hall she noticed the curtain shudder. Quickly she edged her way around the audience until she was able to slip behind the heavy drapes. One of the performers had wound a scarf or something around Sherlock's neck, and due to the struggle, neither of them noticed Edith. She grabbed one of the heavy masks and struck the man over the head. Sherlock looked up at the relieved pressure, as the man fell to the floor, but was too late to warn Edith about the ghoulishly masked man who snuck up behind her. She writhed, trying to loosen his grip on her, with no luck until she spotted a can of yellow graffiti spray, which she snatched and sprayed at her attacker. Sherlock then repaid the compliment from earlier and knocked the man unconscious.

"Thanks." Edith panted.

"No problem. We need to get back up." Sherlock replied.

"Are you okay? You've gone all croaky."

"I'm fine. Just call Dimmock, there might be more of them here."

~X~

"Brother dear!" Sherlock mimicked Edith's over-enthusiastic greeting.

"_The Earl of Grantham's daughter?"_

"Who?"

"_Your companion."_ Mycroft drawled.

"Ah, Edith. What about her?"

"_Please tell me you knew about her title."_

"Of course I knew, but it's hardly important." Sherlock flicked through the morning paper.

"_You are living with the daughter of one of the richest men in England, and you deem her heritage as unimportant?" _

"She deems it as unimportant and I go along with that. Not to mention she is currently wearing tracksuits and a T-shirt and is drinking orange juice out of the carton in the fridge."

"_No doubt because her sister is now staying with you as well, and Lady Edith is looking after her."_

"What of it Mycroft?"

"_Just ensuring that you are aware of the situation. That family has more secrets than I care to mention."_ Sherlock blinked as the phone call ended, tossed his phone aside and flopped onto the sofa.

Edith joined him, "So, what was the verdict on the case yesterday?" she asked.

"Van Coon took the treasure; a nine million pound hairpin. The message you found was requesting their associates to find it and bring it to the circus. They haven't found it though because Van Coon's PA is wearing it."

"And you know all that how?"

"From the soap."

Edith was about to inquire further but was interrupted by Sybil, "Edith, we need to sort out travel arrangements for… Holy Crap!" Edith glanced between the startled look on her sister's face to the guilty look that Sherlock had adopted. "Are you wearing anything under that?" Sybil continued, her question aimed at Sherlock.

"Err… no." He replied.

Edith looked at Sherlock again, having not completely realised that he was wrapped in a sheet. Sybil meanwhile was still trying to compose herself.

"Um, Edith, can I talk to you?" She choked out before escaping from the room. Edith got up to follow her, but paused.

"Seriously? Nothing?"

"Nope."

Edith nodded. "Nice." She left the room. "So, what was it you wanted to sort out?" she asked Sybil.

"Friday. I was thinking we could all travel up together, since Tom is terrified of meeting the parents and driving would provide a good distraction for him."

"Oops I'd forgotten about that! Is it Easter this weekend?"

Sybil stared at Edith. "You've got to be joking! You are coming with us to Downton, aren't you?"

"Of course. Sherlock's coming as well so driving up would be great."

"Sherlock at Downton! Ha, I can't wait to see that!" noticing Edith's wounded look, Sybil backed off. "Anyway, I'll check with Tom tonight and then we just need to be ready to leave early on Friday."

* * *

><p><em>TBC...<em>


	13. Sherlock at Downton

_Ta-da! An update! Sorry it's taken so long. :/_

_Thank you to LewStonewar, hillevi, Thymelady, 'Guest', LoopyLizzie and MissGracieKathy for reviews. And particular thanks to shana. rose, aussiegirl97 and EOlivet for their continued support._

_Hope this chapter lives up to expectations! :)_

* * *

><p>Edith watched as Downton appeared through the trees, as they drove up the long drive. Even in the poor late evening light, she could make out the parliamentary style building. She felt Sybil take her hand as they rounded the last corner, both sisters knowing how trying the next few days could prove to be. Tom slowed the car to a halt on the gravel outside the front door of the house and blew out a long whistle. He glanced in the mirror at Sybil, who met his eyes and then looked at Edith. This was it. Simultaneously they opened the car doors and stepped out. Edith looked up at the impressive façade once more before following Sybil over to where their mother was standing.<p>

"Sybil, darling how are you?" Cora asked, hugging her daughter. "We were so worried when we got a call to say you'd been hurt."

"Mum, I'm fine! Edith was there for me, and so was Tom, my boyfriend." She introduced as he came to join them.

"Hello Tom." Cora extended a hand for him to shake. "Welcome to Downton."

"Thank you."

"And Edith. How are you darling?" However Cora's attention was immediately diverted by Sybil's childish squeal and embrace with her father who had just emerged from the house. Edith watched the scene in amusement. Anyone who could see Sybil in this moment would have trouble believing that she was a soldier. She shook her head slightly and became aware of another presence at her shoulder. In all honesty she'd forgotten about Sherlock, who had been asleep in the front of the car.

"Oh, mum, this is my flatmate; Sherlock."

"Lady Grantham." Sherlock addressed Cora formally.

"Lovely to meet you. Now you must all be tired. I'll get Mrs Hughes to show you your rooms." She pushed past her husband and disappeared into the house. Sherlock turned and gazed over the front paddock wordlessly, so Edith left him to join the gaggle formed by her sister, her father and Tom.

"So are you a soldier or a doctor like Sybil?" Robert asked.

"Tom's a journalist, dad, for a newspaper." Sybil supplied.

Robert's expression hardened. "Which paper?"

"Not one you're likely to have heard of; the An Phoblacht." Tom answered.

"Irish Republican newspaper. Only published once a month. Contains some very interesting view points, so a recommended read." Sherlock smirked, appearing beside Edith.

"Republican?" Robert looked pointedly at Tom and Sybil.

"Um, dad, this is Sherlock." Edith tried to ignore the death stare her sister was giving her.

"Ah, the detective we've heard so much about." Robert extended his hand for Sherlock to shake.

"Lord Grantham." Sherlock greeted. Robert's eyebrows shot up at the correct usage of his title. Nowadays he always seemed to be addressed as 'Mr Crawley'. "I understand the brother of the third earl was a keen biologist." Sherlock continued. "You wouldn't happen to have any of his original research here, would you?"

Robert's dumbfound expression wasn't a source of too much embarrassment, due to Cora's return with the housekeeper. Mrs Hughes showed them to their rooms, with only minimal protest from Sybil regarding the fact her and Tom were not allowed to share a room. Edith found it quite amusing also comparing the reactions of Tom and Sherlock to the grand house. Sherlock seemed completely unfazed by the splendour, but Tom was gaping at everything, even in the semi darkness.

By morning the situation hadn't changed. Tom bumped into Edith on the upstairs landing, apparently lost, but still in wonderment. Edith really had to stifle her giggles as they walked to the dining room together for breakfast. However, her expression rivalled Tom's as they entered the room, to find Sherlock conversing easily with her father about the latest news from London. She sat down opposite her flatmate, wondering quite how he'd made this good an impression on her dad.

"Do you actually have a kitchen?" Tom asked Edith quietly, as he sat down after helping himself to toast and scrambled eggs from the sideboard. Edith tore her eyes off Sherlock to find Tom grinning.

"Of course we do, and no doubt Sybil will be helping herself to something from it right now." At Tom's confused expression, she continued. "We only have the buffet style breakfast when everyone is here and Sybil has always been the most independent. She tends to make her own." As if on cue, her sisters backed up her point.

"Darling, why can't you just help yourself in the dining room like everyone else?"

Sherlock noticed Edith and Tom visibly stiffen, before observing Mary Crawley for the first time. She was striking. The pictures didn't lie.

"You know I don't care for formalities." Sybil tossed the comment back at her sister, carrying her bowl of cereal to the table and sitting down next to her boyfriend, kissing him lightly on the cheek.

Mary rolled her eyes, and started looking in the various dishes at the top of the room.

"So what are your plans for this morning?" Robert asked as the eldest Crawley sister sat down.

"I was going to take Tom to Ripon." Sybil offered.

"It'll be awfully busy, darling." Mary retorted.

"It's only Ripon, Mary. It's not like we're going into the middle of York or Leeds!" There was a pause.

"Well, I was going to take Diamond out. Matthew doesn't care for riding, so I may as well go this morning before he arrives."

"That's a good idea. Perhaps Edith and Sherlock would like to join you?" Robert suggested, looking between his daughters. For the first time Mary took in the man sitting next to her, before extending a hand in greeting.

"Mary Crawley. I don't believe we've been introduced."

"Sherlock Holmes." He replied, noting her serious expression, the way Sybil and Tom looked disbelieving, Edith looked sceptical and Robert looked happy.

"Well, that's settled then." Robert said, taking the newspaper and unfolding it.

"Actually, I'm not fond of horses either. They're dangerous at both ends and crafty in the middle." He stated matter-of-factly. "And Edith promised to show me the grounds this morning." He looked across at her with intent.

"Yes," she managed after her initial surprise, "yes I did."

~X~

Sherlock had been quiet during their walk, occasionally questioning Edith on various plants and seeming pleased at her ability to answer. They were on their way back to the house when Edith spotted the car. A large, maroon coloured Bentley, parked just in front of the main door.

"Oh no." She muttered.

"What?"

"Prepare to be interrogated." The Chauffeur opened the back door of the car. "Granny's here." Sherlock watched the old lady with interest as they drew closer.

"Edith dear, how are you?"

"Very well, thank you granny, and yourself?"

"Oh, I can't complain too much. Now you must tell me all about London. Robert didn't seem to know what you'd been up to at all! But first you must introduce me to this young man you've brought with you." Violet instructed.

"Granny, this is Sherlock."

"Lady Grantham." He opted again for formality.

"Ah, the youngest of the Holmes boys as I understand. I had the privilege of playing cards with your mother at a charity dinner hosted by the late Lady Strallen. So, Sherlock, how did you become acquainted with my granddaughter?"

"A mutual acquaintance from St. Bartholomew's introduced us." He replied as they walked into the building.

* * *

><p><em>Just a note; I didn't do too much research into the 'An Phoblacht', which is real, but I think it would be the type of paper a modern Tom would write for.<em>


	14. Chapter 14

_Okay, so this chapter is unbeta'd, and I'm not feeling well, so apologies for any glaring mistakes. However, it does have Sherlock being, well, Sherlock-y which I hope will make up for it! And sorry to everyone who wanted more Sherlock/Violet. It didn't fit in with what I had planned for this chapter, but since a lot of people commented, I might include her again later in the fic. Any ideas? Please let me know!_

_Also, this chapter makes it appear like I hate Mary. I don't. I find her character very complex and interesting, but at the same time I like using her to bring across other traits in different characters, which often makes her look like 'the bad guy/girl'. _

_Plus I've had issues with structuring this chapter. There are two conversations happening at once, so I've put one in Italic. Hopefully it's not too confusing, but if it is poke me and I'll change it._

_Thank you to my wonderful reviewers: MissGracieKathy, RosesInJamJars, shana. rose, HarnGin, gothamgirl28, LewStonewar, G.N. Took-Baggins and Thymelady_

_Enough of the essay! Enjoy :)_

* * *

><p>"Some people overvalue what they are not and undervalue what they are. Don't fall into that trap." Sherlock whispered to Edith from his place next to her at the grand dining table.<p>

"What?" She murmured back.

"You're shrinking into that chair the more your sister's talk. They're not better than you. You just need to convince yourself of that."

She shook her head, before looking up at Sherlock properly. "Have you seen my parents? They watch Sybil adorably, they admire Mary, but whenever I try to say anything dad takes a large sip of wine, and mum pretends to be listening but is actually watching Mary and Matthew in hope that something will happen."

"Well, that's a waste of time. It's obvious that they're attracted to one another, but they are both too stubborn to admit it." His observation made Edith smile. "And next time, I would advise seating the Irishman further away from your sister. He's been stroking her leg for most of the meal." Edith looked sharply at Sybil, who had a perfect façade of angelic innocence, even if Sherlock was to be believed. "Try dropping your serviette if you don't believe me, and don't be too obvious about it." He berated gently.

She did as she was told and pushed the folded paper off the table, leaning down in time to see her sister untangle her leg from her boyfriend's. Edith righted her posture, smiled apologetically at her mother and nodded discretely at Sherlock.

"So Tom, what do you do?" Isobel asked from across the table, in an attempt to relieve the stilted atmosphere that had settled on the room.

"I'm a journalist."

"How thrilling! And Sherlock, what about you?"

"I'm a consulting detective." Before Isobel even had a chance to ask what that was, Sherlock continued. "It means that people request my help to solve crimes. Particularly the police, but I take on other things as well if they're interesting." The room lapsed back into silence, until Cora broke it with a tone of forced joviality.

"I think we'll go through." Robert, Matthew and Sherlock stood up.

"What's happening?" Tom whispered to Sybil in confusion.

"Tradition." She gestured quickly that he should stand up. "The ladies leave, giving the men a chance to chat." Tom stood awkwardly and watched as his girlfriend left the room after the rest of them.

~X~

As soon as the men entered the drawing room Tom made a beeline for Sybil and Sherlock sauntered over to Edith.

"Your father has a remarkable collection of cigars." Sherlock said in admiration. "I pinched a couple for later, but don't tell." He smirked at Edith and she giggled.

"So, tell me all the scope on Mary and Matthew."

"You know it all, so why should I?" he challenged.

"Because I'm interested in how you figured it all out, and because Mary would hate to think she was being obvious." Sherlock rolled his eyes at her, but smiled.

"When Matthew and his mother arrived, your sister was desperate to be present, but avoided actually answering the door. Then there was Matthew himself. He walked in quickly, but didn't hold eye contact with her. Nothing official yet then. His appearance; expensive suit, but cheap tie. The company he works for think themselves important, but actually they don't cut it with the best. When he saw your sister he automatically straightened the tie, so he wants to impress her and suddenly that tie felt far too tight and inferior. Her opinion obviously matters the most to him. Then I'm sure no one missed the sultry glances at dinner or the 'accidental' brush of fingers whenever he handed her anything."

"You're amazing!"

"Edith, dear, I'm going home." Violet walked over to them. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight granny."

~X~

The following day, Tom and Sherlock were sat downstairs in front of a huge plasma screen TV. Edith had gone with her father and Matthew to look round the estate. Cora had gone out earlier in the morning and Mary had stolen Sybil away for a chat. However their raised voices could be heard from downstairs.

_"Oh, you can accept Sherlock, the weirdo who walks around in a sheet and nothing else, but Tom isn't good enough?" Sybil accused._

_"Darling, he has no money. He's a journalist." Mary added with a slight laugh, as if her point weighs the debate._

_"Richard was a journalist." Sybil immediately shot back._

_"Richard owned most of the papers in London, plus some international ones. What does Tom do? Writes one column a month for an Irish rebel paper. Slightly different you have to admit."_

Tom shifted nervously, although his companion seemed unfazed. "Do you think we should interrupt? It sounds like things are getting heated up there."

Sherlock glanced at him. "They're sisters. Interrupting would only make things worse." Quickly he resumed his argument with the news reporter and Tom sank deeper into the sofa.

_"At least Tom has a job! Unless you seriously consider what Sherlock does as working."_

_"Darling, the Holmes family are loaded. Sherrinford owns an estate, much like Downton and Mycroft practically runs the country. I grant you Sherlock is a bit eccentric, but he is the best looking, so I suppose we should give Edith some credit. Besides it's not like she'll get a better offer. Any man who can take her off our hands I'll be grateful to. Whereas you, darling, could bag Prince Harry in a couple of seconds. A friend told me that he was planning on visiting the hospitals next time he's on active service, just so he could talk to you."_

_"That's ridiculous." Sybil scoffed. "Anyway I don't care."_

_"You should care, Sybil. If you could choose between Buckingham palace and some slum in Dublin, well, you don't have a choice!"_

Sherlock suddenly sat up alert. Tom took a break from nervously watching the ceiling and followed Sherlock's intent stare.

**'Dartmoor.'** The documentary started.** 'It's always been a place of Myth and legend, but is there something else lurking out here? Something very real. Because Dartmoor is also home to one of the governments most secret of operations. A chemical and biological weapons research centre, in the heart of this ancient wilderness. Since the end of the Second World War there have been persistent stories about the Baskerville experiments. Genetic mutations. Animals grown for the battlefield. But the real question is; are all of them still inside.'** It proceeded to show interview footage, but Tom was watching Sherlock. He was still intent on the TV, although Tom couldn't see what was so fascinating about it. When Sherlock did finally speak again it made him jump.

"Where's Edith?"

_"That's precisely the problem! I want a choice! You might be happy organising social events Mary, and planning public opening times with the National Trust for bank holiday visitors, but I want more than that." Sybil wailed, desperately._

_"A rich husband could give you more." Mary seemed confused._

_"For God's sake Mary, you are not even trying to understand me."_

_"I can't. Not when you are telling me that you are prepared to throw away your life for a man of such insignificance."_

_"Mary, you bitch." Sybil walked to the door, her voice low and dangerous. "I love Tom and I will fight for him."_

_"You are making a mistake." Mary muttered as her sister left._

Edith headed for the stairs the instant she heard Mary and Sybil fighting. It was usually her and Mary in this situation, so for Sybil to be that angry it had to be serious. Sherlock appeared from the drawing room, and followed her.

"What's going on here?" She asked as Sybil barged past her and collapsed in tears on Tom's shoulder.

"Argument. Sisters. It does happen. Probably over money, or men, most likely both. The way she is standing," Sherlock indicated to Mary, who was standing in the doorway, "the clothes, the jewellery all suggest that money is important. Then there's the estate. Mary clearly loves it and the tradition that comes with it more than either of you two. Likely because she's the oldest, or something to do with the divorce, or again, maybe both. Which brings me to my second point. Only 6 months, something must have gone wrong, but there was obviously little real feeling involved, and she is now taking her jealousy out on Sybil who has found someone who cares for her and whom she loves. They're happy, she isn't. Simple really. Now, Edith, we need to catch the next train to Dartmoor."

* * *

><p><em>TBC...<em>


	15. The hound of Baskerville

_Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine. This one has a lot of stolen dialogue, description etc from the BBC TV adaptation and from the original book. I don't own either._

_Thank you so, so much to Mimi DuBois, Thymelady, RosesInJamJars, shana. rose, LewStonewar, royalmagician and G.N. Took-Baggins. Your comments mean the world to me!_

_Enjoy :)_

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><p>Edith had convinced Sherlock that having some form of transport when they got to Dartmoor as being a good idea, which was how she found herself driving to Devonshire in one of her father's estate Land Rovers for which she already had insurance. Robert had promised on their sudden departure that he would try and get Sherlock insured as well, so that they could both drive when they got there. Over the green squares of the Devon fields and the low curve of a wood there rose in the distance a grey, melancholy hill, with a strange jagged summit, dim and vague in the distance, like some fantastic landscape in a dream. Sherlock sat still for a long time, his eyes fixed upon it. The whole area was bleak and uninviting. They drove on in silence until they reached the top of the hill and a large portion of rock formation.<p>

"Stop." Sherlock instructed. Edith pulled the car over. "Bring the map and those binoculars." He added before getting out of the car and effortlessly ascending to the top of the rock pile. Edith couldn't help but laugh seeing him standing up there with his coat billowing slightly in the breeze. "What?"

"Nothing. You just reminded me of Lizzie Bennet." Sherlock frowned. "You know, when they go to the Peak District."

"This is Dartmoor." Sherlock stated blandly.

Edith looked up at him again. "Never mind. What am I doing with the map?"

"Reading it. I need to get a feel for the area." Edith sighed in despair. Still, she unfolded the map and pointed out places she thought might be useful, including Baskerville, Grimpen Village and Dewer's Hollow to her companion. "What's that?" he asked suddenly. Edith looked through the binoculars, towards Baskerville in the direction Sherlock was pointing.

"Minefield?"

"Hmm." Apparently satisfied, Sherlock climbed gracefully back down and let Edith drive them to the Cross Keys Pub where they were staying. A group of tourists were milling around outside as Edith went to check them in. Sherlock had called ahead during the drive down. She bought herself a glass of lemonade before rejoining Sherlock outside. "Bet's off Edith."

"What?"

"Bet?" The other man at the table asked.

"My plan needs darkness, and we're already losing the light." Sherlock continued.

"Wait, wait, wait, what bet?" The tour guide would not let Sherlock's comment drop.

"Oh, I bet Edith here fifty quid that you couldn't prove you'd seen the hound."

"Yeah, the guys in the pub said you could." She added.

"Well, you're gonna lose your money mate." He addressed Sherlock.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I seen it. Only about a month ago. Up at the Hollow. It was foggy mind, couldn't make much out."

"I see. No witnesses I suppose?"

"No, but…"

"Never are." Edith tried not to giggle.

"No, wait. There." He showed Sherlock a picture on his phone.

Sherlock sniggered. "Is that it? It's not exactly proof is it? Sorry Edith, I win."

"Wait, wait. That's not all." The man continued. He seemed desperate to prove his point now. "People don't like going out there you know. To the Hollow. Gives them a bad sort of feeling."

"Ooh, is it haunted?" Sherlock mocked. This time Edith failed to completely hide her laughter and let out a strangled noise, which she attempted to turn into a cough.

"Nah, don't be stupid! Nothing like that. But I reckon there is something out there. Something from Baskerville. Escaped."

"A clone? A super-dog?"

"Maybe. God knows what they've been spraying on us all these years. Or putting in the water. I wouldn't trust them as far as I could spit."

"Is that the best you've got?" Sherlock challenged.

The tour guide looked about, as if he was searching for an escape. After a moment he reluctantly plunged into his story. "I had a mate once who worked for the MOD. One day, we were meant to go fishing but he never showed up, well, not 'till late. And when he did, he was as white as a sheet. He'd spent the day at some secret army place. In the labs there he said he'd seen terrible things. Rats as big as dogs, he said, and dogs the size of horses." He pulled out a massive stone paw print from his bag. Sherlock stared at it.

"We did say fifty, right?" Edith prompted. There was a contented smirk on the other man's face as Sherlock pulled out his wallet and handed over the money, before stalking back to the Land Rover to get their bags. "So was it genuine or was it a plaster of Paris mock up?" Edith questioned as they walked back into the pub.

Sherlock only shrugged. "Is this the room?"

"Err, six, yeah." Edith opened the door and they both groaned at the sight of the double bed that greeted them. Sherlock recovered quicker and placed the bags at the foot of the bed.

"We can sort that out later. Now I want to go and see Henry Knight." Edith merely nodded. She was still trying to regain her composure from a number of not entirely unwanted thoughts about sharing a bed with Sherlock.

~X~

"Mr Knight? Sherlock Holmes. May we come in, I'd like to ask you some questions regarding your interview." Sherlock started as soon as the door opened.

"How did you get this address?"

"Oh, one way or another. Besides, there aren't many residents in Grimpen." Sherlock smirked.

"Oh." Henry Knight unintentionally opened the door a little wider allowing Sherlock to walk straight through the large house and settle himself in the kitchen.

"So what did you see?" He began when Henry and Edith finally joined him.

"I thought you said you'd seen the documentary?" Henry Knight asked, clearly confused.

"I prefer to do my own editing."

"Yes, of course. We used to go for walks after my mum died, my dad and me. Every evening we'd go out onto the moor."

"Not interested. Skipping to the night that your dad was violently killed." Sherlock interrupted. Sometimes his lack of tact still managed to shock Edith.

Henry took a moment then continued. "It was huge. Coal black fur with red eyes. It got him. Tore at him, tore him apart." There was a vacant look in the man's eyes, which matched the landscape of the area he came from.

"So… Dog, wolf?" Edith contributed.

"Or a genetic experiment." Sherlock added.

"Are you laughing at me Mr Holmes?" Henry asked mockingly.

"Why, are you joking?" Sherlock was serious.

"Are you from the press?"

"No, nothing like that. What I want to know is why now? Why the sudden interest? The documentary. Why? Either something has changed, or there's something new."

"Henry, what have you seen?" Edith gently coaxed.

"It's a strange place, the Hollow. Makes you feel so cold inside, so afraid. My therapist said I should go back. Face my demons as it were."

Sherlock sighed impatiently. "And… What did you see?"

"Footprints."

"Is that it? Nothing else? Footprints?"

"Yes, but…"

"No, sorry therapist wins. Childhood trauma masked by an invented memory. Boring!"

"What about the footprints?" Henry tried again.

"Oh, could be anything, therefore nothing." Sherlock got up to leave.

"Mr Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound."

Sherlock froze.

"Hound?" Edith asked.

"Yes. Hound." Henry verified.

"Interesting." Sherlock muttered turning back.

"A moment ago you said footprints were boring, but now they're interesting?" He questioned.

"It's got nothing to do with footprints, Henry. At least Edith was listening."

Henry remained puzzled. "So what now then?"

"We take you back out onto the moor and see if anything attacks you." Sherlock offered.

"What?" Edith choked out.

"At night?" Henry asked.

"That's your plan?" Edith couldn't quite believe what Sherlock was suggesting.

"Night, evening, whatever. It's dark enough now. Shall we?" He gestured that they go. Henry immediately followed the command and Edith walked after him, looking questioningly at Sherlock as they left the house together.

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><p><em>TBC...<em>


	16. Chapter 16

_It's nearly exam time again! Not that my updates happen very regularly anyway, but I thought I'd warn you._

_Big thanks to Thymelady, joniskpelare, LewStonewar, shana. rose, LoopyLizzie and RosesInJamJars._

__Unbeta'd.__

_RosesInJamJars I hope you like the further... tension in this chapter ;)_

_Enjoy :)_

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><p>Edith's unoriginal ringtone shattered the eerie silence that had followed them across the moor.<p>

"Dad?" She answered, pulling her jacket tighter around her, in an attempt to shield herself from the bitter wind. "I can't hear you." She said, walking in a small circle as Sherlock and Henry disappeared into the Hollow.

"I said I've put Sherlock on the insurance. It's all sorted. So, how are you settling in?"

"It's not exactly a holiday, dad. Sherlock is working, and at this very point in time I'm standing on the moor freezing my arse off!" She was hopping from foot to foot as her father started muttering about profanities on the other end, but a long, drawn out howling, coming from the Hollow sent a shiver sown Edith's spine, chilling her to the core. "Sorry dad, got to go." She shoved the phone in her pocket and ran forwards, following where the two men had walked only moments ago. Almost immediately she saw their torches. "Did you hear that?"

"We saw it! We saw it!" Henry exclaimed.

"No. I didn't see anything." Sherlock replied flatly.

"What are you talking about?" Henry seemed taken aback.

"I didn't see anything." Sherlock reiterated. "Edith, take Henry back to his place." And with that he strode off.

"Look he must have seen it! I saw it. He must have. Why? Why did he say that? It… it was there. It was!" The man had been protesting for the entire walk back.

"Henry, I need you to sit down."

"I'm not crazy. There is a hound. There is… something. And Sherlock, he saw it too. No matter what he says. He saw it too."

Edith waited until Henry had calmed down somewhat before making her way back to the Cross Keys. There were still a couple of customers downstairs, but there was no sign of Sherlock. Edith continued along the corridor to their room. Sherlock was huddled under the covers of the large bed, looking small and vulnerable. Edith crept into the bathroom, realising that she couldn't get anything out of her bag without disturbing him. In the end she simply splashed some water on her face before taking a deep breath, unlocking the bathroom door and stepping into the darkened room. Sherlock hadn't moved so she climbed on top of the bed covers and settled down next to her room mate. Propriety was being upheld and she was tired, so sleep came easily.

~X~

When she reverted to consciousness there was a clear steam of light pooling across the room. Edith reached for her watch and groaned loudly when it only read 3.10.

"I didn't mean to wake you."

This time she rolled over to see Sherlock in his crumpled suit highlighted by the pale moonlight that was pouring into the room. She sat up, slowly, blinking. "Doesn't matter." She murmured before allowing her gaze to settle on her companion. His shoulders were tense and he was constantly fidgeting, but not in the way he did when he was bored. This was different. His breathing was shallow and obvious. Edith frowned. She got off the bed and walked over to him. "Sherlock?"

He flinched as she said it. His features were unreadable but he was clearly edgy. "I saw it too." He began after a pause. "Edith, I saw it too. A hound. Out there in the Hollow. A gigantic hound!"

"Sherlock…"

"Once you've ruled out the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be true." He held his hand out flat in the moonlight and gave a sceptical laugh. "Look at me Edith. I'm afraid. Afraid." He was in fact shaking. She took his hand in both of hers as he continued. "My body's betraying me. I've always been able to keep myself distant. Divorce myself from feelings. Interesting, yes? Emotions. The grit on the lens, the fly in the ointment."

"Yeah, alright, Spock." Edith led him back to the bed.

"I've always been able to trust my senses, the evidence of my own eyes, until tonight. I can't believe I saw some kind of monster, but I did see it, I keep seeing it now, so the question is how? How?" He'd taken up a vice like grip on her hand, forcing her to climb over the top of him and flop ungracefully down onto the bed, still with their fingers entwined, a lot closer to him than she had been previously. "Stay with me?" He whispered, barely audible. Edith smiled at the extra warmth and proximity and accepted that it was going to take her longer to drift back to sleep.

~X~

The following morning, after a fiasco with her hair, which had somehow managed to attach itself to her jacket as she slept, Sherlock drove them both to Baskerville. Security was high – there were soldiers with guns and dogs everywhere. Once again Edith found herself thanking Sybil's choice of career. Without her Edith was sure she'd panic at the whole scene. They were stopped at the gate and Sherlock handed over his card.

"We got ID for Baskerville? How?"

"It's not specific to this place. It's my brother's." He explained. "Access all areas. I um… acquired it ages ago, just in case."

"We'll get caught."

"No we won't, well not just yet." He looked over at her and smiled. "Stop worrying."

She was about to protest, but they were ushered through. "Wow."

"I reckon we've got about twenty minutes before they realise something's wrong." They were met outside the main building by a Corporal and proceeded into the maze of automated doors.

"We could use Sybil here." Edith whispered as they walked into a large laboratory. "Biology degree, and she could pull rank." They both giggled, but stopped as they were approached by an older gentleman.

"Ah, new faces! How nice."

"Sorry, Dr Frankland, I'm just showing these people around." Corporal Lyons supplied.

"Careful you don't get stuck here though. I only came to fix a tap." Frankland joked. They continued through more doors into another laboratory.

"Who's this?"

"An inspection, Dr Stapleton."

"Stapleton?" Sherlock mouthed.

"Really?" She asked, surprised.

"We're to be accorded every courtesy, Dr Stapleton." Sherlock had adopted his most formal tone. "What's your role at Baskerville?"

"I'm not free to say. Official secrets."

"Oh, you most certainly are free, and I suggest you remain that way."

Something in his look or his tone must have worked because she immediately answered. "I have a lot of fingers in a lot of pies. I like to mix things up. Genes mostly. Now and again, actual fingers."

"Stapleton. I knew I knew your name."

"I doubt it." She muttered uncomfortably.

"People say there's no such thing as coincidence. What dull lives they must lead." He held up his notebook and the woman looked stunned. Her attention was now firmly fixed on Sherlock.

"Have you been talking to my daughter?"

"Why did Bluebell have to die, Dr Stapleton? Because it glowed in the dark."

"Who are you?"

"Well, I think we've seen enough for now, Corporal. Thank you so much. It's this way isn't it?" He walked off. Edith shrugged apologetically at Dr Stapleton, although the woman seemed to know more about what was going on than she did.

"What just happened?" She asked as she approached Sherlock. In return, he simply handed her his phone.

"On the website, but keep walking." His voice was low. She kept watching as the page loaded, but was interrupted by a text.

_What are you doing? M_

At the sound of the text alert Sherlock checked his watch and laughed. "23 minutes. He's getting slow."

_Dear Mr Sherlock Holmes_, Edith read as they entered the lift, _I can't find Bluebell anywhere. Please, please, please can you help?_

"This is bloody outrageous." Edith jumped and dropped Sherlock's phone in the process. "Why wasn't I told?"

"Major Barrymore, is it? We're very impressed. Aren't we Edith?" Sherlock tried to rescue the situation.

"Yes." She all but squeaked. Luckily though, her answer covered up the text alert which had gone off again.

_What's going on Sherlock? M_

"The whole point of Baskerville was to eliminate this kind of bureaucratic nonsense." The Major continued as Sherlock made his way past.

"I'm so sorry, Major. New policy – can't let you remain unmonitored forever. Goodness knows what you'd get up to." Sherlock swiped his card in the final door, but it buzzed unwillingly.

"ID unauthorised sir." Corporal Lyons suddenly bolted around the corner. "I've just had the call."

"Is that right? Who are you?" The Major's voice was smug and full of contempt.

"There must have been some kind of mistake." Edith started, although her gut feeling was that this situation was unsalvageable. Sherlock handed over his card. "Computer error Major. It'll all have to go in the report." She was trying to sound business like.

"What the hell's going on?" Major Barrymore shouted, causing Edith to jump again.

"It's all right Major, I know exactly who these people are." Dr Frankland supplied, confusing Edith further. Since when had he been there?

"You do?" This time the Major sounded hopeful.

"Yeah, I'm getting a little slow on faces, but Mr Holmes here isn't someone I expected to show up in this place." Edith could feel her heart rate increasing. "Good to see you again, Mycroft." Sherlock shook hands with Dr Frankland in mock recognition and Edith let out the breath she'd been holding. "I had the honour of meeting Mr Holmes at the W.H.O conference in… Brussels, was it?"

"Vienna." Sherlock smoothly replied.

"Vienna, that's it. This is Mr Mycroft Holmes, Major. There's obviously been a mistake."

"On your head be it, Dr Frankland." The doctor laughed and for a moment Edith wondered if the people in lab coats actually had more power than those in military dress. Sherlock made for the door the instant it opened, with Edith quick behind him. Dr Frankland followed them out.

"Thank you." Sherlock offered.

"This is about Henry Knight, isn't it? I thought so. I knew he wanted help, but I didn't realise he was going to contact Sherlock Holmes! Don't worry, I know who you really are. I'm never off your website." Edith snickered, earning her a glare from both men. "I wish you'd write up more about the cases though. A blog would get you all sorts of attention."

"You think?" Sherlock asked.

"Sure."

"So, you know Henry Knight?"

"Well, I knew his dad better. He had all sorts of mad theories about this place. Still he was a good friend. Listen, I can't really talk now, but here's my cell number. If I can help, with Henry, give me a call."

Sherlock nodded. "I'll be in touch."

"Any time." Frankland turned and headed back to the building while they walked to the Land Rover.

* * *

><p><em>TBC...<em>

_It's my Birthday on Friday and reviews will make for lovely presents ;) _


	17. Chapter 17

_You are wonderful people; Mimi DuBois, Stella Celeste Taylor, shana. rose, RosesInJamJars, Thymelady, EllieMJayx and Guest. If this story has inspired you in any way to read crossovers, then my work here is done! Well, sort of! The story continues!_

_This one is quite emotional. It ran away from me a bit, but I'm happy with how it worked out! Unbeta'd._

_Enjoy :) _

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><p>"Shall we get some lunch?" Sherlock suggested as they drove back.<p>

"Mmmm that would be good. So what was all that about the rabbit; the email from Kirsty?"

"Kirsty Stapleton. Whose mother specialises in genetic manipulation. I was just tying up some loose ends. I got the email while we were at Downton, but it also shows us that Dr. Stapleton performs secret genetic experiments on animals. The question is; has she been working on something deadlier than a rabbit?" They parked up and walked towards the entrance, but Sherlock suddenly frowned. "What the hell are you doing here?" He quickly strode forward.

"Oh, nice to see you too." Lestrade replied. "I'm on holiday, would you believe."

"No. I wouldn't. You're brown as a nut. You're clearly just back from your holidays. Besides, we had to work with that other idiot in your absence."

Lestrade smirked at that. "So what are you two up to? You after this hound of hell, like on the telly?"

"Hey, it's filling up in here. Can we grab a table?" Edith interrupted.

"Oh, this is Mycroft, isn't it? Baskerville must be important if he sent you even before I used his ID." Edith rolled her eyes at Sherlock's sudden lack of interest in lunch and went to sit down. After a while the two men came to join her. "Hound." Sherlock continued. "Why does he keep calling it a hound? Why a hound?"

"What do you mean?" Lestrade asked.

"It's odd, isn't it? Strange choice of word. Archaic."

"Unless you're hunting." Edith added.

Sherlock screwed his nose up. "I don't think Henry's the type."

"True, but he might have been influenced. TV programme or something – and then hound makes for a better description than dog."

"Ah, but that's the thing. He never says dog or monster. Only hound."

"Does hound mean anything else, or stand for something?" Lestrade put in.

"An acronym?" Sherlock sat up a bit straighter. "Move! I need to go to my mind palace." Edith groaned.

"Your what?" Lestrade asked.

"Don't bother. He's already gone and I'm hungry." Edith explained, making her way over to the bar.

"What's he doing?" Lestrade followed her, but glanced over at Sherlock.

"It's a memory technique. A mental map or place where you deposit memories. Theoretically you can never forget anything, all you have to do is find your way back to it."

"But he said palace?"

"Yeah, well he would, wouldn't he?" The two of them laughed.

~X~

Edith had gone back to the room after she'd eaten because Sherlock was still thinking. Just now though, she'd received a text telling her to meet him outside. He was smoking one of her father's cigars, the smoke twirling its way into the air.

"Project H.O.U.N.D. I must have read about it. Stored it away. Experiment in the CIA facility in Liberty Indiana. We should try going back to the Hollow." He inhaled once more before stubbing the cigar out and walking over to the car. He was quiet on the way there. They both were. It was only once they got to the Hollow that he spoke again. "Fear and stimulus. That's how it works. Project H.O.U.N.D. But there never was any monster." The eerie howling started up again, arguing against him.

"Sherlock?" Edith questioned.

"All right, it's still here!"

"Sherlock!" Edith was starting to panic. She had seen it, yes, but the hound had gone. Now all she could see were soldiers. "Sherlock!" she cried again. They were calling out to her, bleeding, dying. She could see their mellow faces, their sunken features. Like a gas attack. Her head was spinning, her breathing fast and erratic. She was vaguely aware of her knees giving way beneath her.

"Edith!" Sherlock noticed her go down, but the hound was still behind him, closing in on him. He fired the gun he'd borrowed from Lestrade and brought with him and immediately regretted it. The animal fell, but Edith's terrified scream made him feel like he'd been punched in the stomach. "Edith! Edith!" He tried to get through to her.

She could still see them. All of them. Sybil was there too, her features swollen and lifeless. And Sherlock. She fisted her hands in the dried leaves, trying to regain a grip on reality. Instead she felt herself grip something quite different. Something completely alien to the terrain she was on. She held it out in front of her in horror.

"The fog! The drug, it's in the fog." Sherlock manoeuvred Edith so that he could carry her away to some clean air.

"Sherlock?" She whispered in concern.

"It's okay. I've got you." Her breathing was calming, but her body was still wracked with sobs and she was shivering. He set her down on the mossy bank beside the jeep, and began rubbing her arms to try and get some warmth back into her. "Edith, look at me. Look at me!" he commanded. Slowly she moved her head to meet his eyes. "It was a drug. An aerosol dispersant. This whole place is a chemical minefield with pressure pads in the ground, just like the one you're holding."

Her gaze snapped back to the item in her hand. "It… It's not a grenade?" She asked genuinely.

"No." Sherlock reassured her, rather surprised at her assumption. Fear and stimulus. The drug had really done its work.

"Oh God!" Edith broke down in more sobs, held up only in Sherlock's embrace. Consciousness was gradally pushing out the fears that had become muddled with reality. "It wasn't real. Sybil, she's…"

"She's fine. Shhh, we're fine." Something in the way Sherlock spoke about 'them' together made Edith melt further into his hold. "I'm sorry." He whispered. "I'm sorry I exposed you to that."

"It's okay." She replied, touched by how genuine he was being. "We're okay." Repeating his words from earlier, she allowed her gaze to wander to his lips. She was leaning in, a whisper away, with her eyes fluttered closed, when she felt herself stumble. His arms had gone and the slam of the car door echoed across the deserted landscape. She cursed under her breath, and with knees still like jelly, she remorsefully climbed into the vehicle.

* * *

><p><em>TBC...<em>


	18. Chapter 18

_Thank you as usual to HarnGin, Stella Celeste Taylor, Mimi DuBois, Lesychan, EllieMJayx, LewStonewar, shana. rose, RosesInJamJars and everyone who is following!_

_Enjoy :)_

* * *

><p>Sherlock dropped Edith off at the Cross Keys to calm down. Also the atmosphere between them had become so stilted, she could only imagine he didn't want her with him anymore. He'd received a call and promptly phoned Lestrade while they were there before driving off again. Edith had been left on her own to wonder at what point she had become so dependant on Sherlock. She sighed, contemplating having an early night when the room phone rang.<p>

"Hello?" She answered it.

"Lady Edith. I will meet you in the bar in exactly ten minutes."

"Who is this?" She asked.

"Don't be late."

The flat tone left her pondering once more how she had gotten into this mess. However she kept the appointment and walked into the bar at the allotted time.

"Do sit down, Lady Edith." A man in a good suit gestured to the chair by the fireplace. "I hear you had quite an adventure out on the moor."

"Who are you?" Edith tried again.

"An interested party."

"Interested in Sherlock? Why? Are you friends?"

"You know him. How many friends do you imagine he has? I'm the closest thing to a friend Sherlock Holmes is capable of having."

"And what's that?"

"An enemy." Edith's eyes widened at his statement. "Well, in his mind, anyway. If you were to ask him, he'd probably say his arch-enemy."

"Arch-enemy?" Edith repeated in disbelief.

"Hmm, Lady Edith, do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?"

"I don't see how that is any of your business."

"It could be. He speaks highly of you, but he sounded unhappy this evening. Nearly as unhappy as you."

"What?"

"I think I should warn you that when you walk with Sherlock Holmes, you see the battlefield this country really is. But that's your risk to take."

"Is it?" She replied sceptically.

"Don't be defeatist. It's very middle class."

Edith scoffed. "You sound like granny."

"Edith, my brother has the brain of a scientist or a philosopher, yet he elects to be a detective. What might we deduce about his heart?" Mycroft paused. "Don't give up on him, Edith."

"Brother? You're his brother!"

"Of course I'm his brother."

"That explains the phone thing." She muttered. Mycroft frowned. "Never mind."

"I would prefer for various reasons that this little chat went unmentioned. We have, what you might call, a difficult relationship."

"I know. He's said."

"Although you probably know enough about that yourself." Mycroft continued. "How is Mary? I saw quite a bit of her when she was still with Richard. Unfortunately he still causes me some problems."

"Richard?"

"I occupy a minor position in the British Government. You think I am on good terms with the press?" He gave her a look of disappointment.

"You and Mary have that in common."

Mycroft chuckled. "Good evening, Lady Edith."

"Good evening."

~X~

"Edith?" Sherlock questioned when he returned to their room. His companion was wrapped in the bed covers with her knees tucked up, but she wasn't asleep. Sherlock could hear the light flutter of her eyelashes against the pillow, plus her breathing was different from when she slept. "Edith, I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I'm flattered by your interest I'm really not looking for any…" He trailed off, gesturing pointlessly to the room, as if it could complete the sentence for him. "If you're interested in the case it was Dr. Frankland. I asked Mycroft to check the CIA files and he sent me a picture with Frankland standing behind the main scientists. Also he said cell number. So obvious." Sherlock sighed. "Lestrade has put him in custody. We can go home tomorrow." When there was no immediate reply he started rummaging about in his bag and was about to go in the bathroom.

"Flattered?" Edith repeated. "Sybil always says 'flattered' is a word posh people use when they're getting ready to say no."

"Edith," he paused, "it's true what people say about me. I don't have friends. I just have one." And with that he shut the door.

~X~

Back at Baker Street, Sherlock remained elusive for the first few days, spending most of his time at St. Bartholomew's. Edith stayed in the apartment to work on her new blog. She typed up their adventures in Baskerville quite quickly and the woman in pink came back to her smoothly. However writers block had now set in and the piece about Chinese smugglers sounded more like the creation of a madwoman. She sighed heavily.

"You sound like you need a break." Edith visibly jumped and turned to find Sherlock smiling at her.

"I could rather."

"You could help me actually."

"Oh?"

"You see, I've had this for ages and haven't opened it." He said walking over to the bookcase in the corner and pulling out Cluedo. "We could order dinner, ask Mrs Hudson and have an evening in."

"Dinner? It's only early afternoon." Edith countered.

"Is it?" Sherlock checked his own watch. "Then the hospital is even more poorly stocked on butanoic acid than I originally thought. Oh well, I've left some butanol to reflux overnight so I can carry on tomorrow. Mrs Hudson!" He called.

"Yes dear?" She appeared in the hallway.

"Uh," Sherlock groaned, "'Casbah nights'. Mrs Hudson, may I recommend something from Edith's collection of perfumes. They're much less taxing on the senses. Now, why are you here? Oh yes, do you want to join us for an afternoon of Cluedo?"

"What about the dishes?"

"Please? It will be fun." He whined.

"Oh, alright."

"Shall I make some tea, while you set up?" Edith offered.

"Coffee for me, black two sugars."

"Remember, we're all going to have to see the board."

Sherlock looked around at the limited space. "Mrs Hudson, can we use your kitchen?" He asked, already making for the door. Edith clicked the kettle off in exasperation and shared a knowing look with the landlady.

"Sometimes I really don't know why we bother!" She was about to follow down the stairs when she heard her text alert. "I'll be with you in a sec."

_OMG dad has persuaded Tom to play cricket at the school fayre on Saturday! Ahh! But he has said I can do a H4H event at the end of the month. Pls come? Xx_

Edith laughed at her sister before rejoining Sherlock and Mrs Hudson. Sherlock had just dumped everything on the table, so Edith immediately had to sort the cards out, while he was analysing the weaponry.

"The candlestick would obviously be in the ballroom. A dagger could be concealed easily among knives in the kitchen. The lead piping would probably be in the conservatory…"

"Sherlock, pick a card."

"Why?"

"Just pick one." He did as she said and looked at it directly afterwards.

"Now what?"

"Never mind. You weren't meant to look at it." Sherlock just looked at her. Edith took the card back and started shuffling again.

"So, who plays as who?" He asked. Edith shrugged, slotting the card cards into the envelope.

"Why don't we just play as the characters we are sitting by?"

"That tends to be the best option." Mrs Hudson agreed.

"At Downton everyone has their set character, which gets terribly dull."

"Who starts?"

"Miss Scarlet always starts." Edith said, reaching for the dice.

"Wait. Are we trying to find out who was murdered, or who the murderer was?"

"The murderer."

"Why?"

"I don't know! It's just how the game works."

"Then who was murdered?"

"What?"

"Who was murdered?"

"I don't know. Read the instructions." Edith rolled a 9 and counted her way into the lounge. "I think, it was Professor Plum, with the candlestick, in the lounge." She waited. "Sherlock, do you have any of those cards?"

"What cards?"

Edith sighed. "Professor Plum, the candlestick or the lounge."

"No."

"Mrs Hudson?" Carefully the older lady showed Edith a card. "Okay." Edith noted it down and pushed the dice towards Sherlock. "Your go." He rolled 11 and went straight to the dining room.

"Now what?"

"Make a guess."

"It was the dagger in the Library…"

"No, no, no, it has to be from the room you're in."

"Fine. The yellow one, in there, with that." Mrs Hudson showed Sherlock a card. The landlady then only rolled a 4, so it was back to Edith.

"Colonel Mustard, with the rope in the lounge."

"You've moved my token, person, thing." Sherlock moaned with indignation.

"Yeah." Edith grinned. "Do you have any of the cards?" He flicked one in her direction and she frowned at the card. "You could have showed me that on the last go." He just shrugged, rolled a 3 and left the room. The game continued until Sherlock got to the library.

"It was Dr. Black, with the revolver in the library." He said triumphantly and put his cards down.

"Dr. Black?" Edith questioned.

"Yes, he committed suicide." He pushed off the chair.

"Sherlock, that's not possible." He turned and glared at her. "It's not in the rules." She added.

"Then the rules are wrong." He told them and walked out of the room. Edith stared after him.

"It was Reverend Green, wasn't it?" Mrs Hudson broke her thoughts. Edith looked in the envelope at the cards.

"Yes. With the revolver, in the library." She concluded.

* * *

><p><em>TBC...<em>


	19. The Great Game

_Thank you to shana. rose, RosesInJamJars, HarnGin, Thymelady, LewStonewar and Stella Celeste for their reviews._

_ Hat tip to Lesychan for some ideas on Edith's blog. I'm hoping to use that more in future chapters!_

_And Mimi DuBois, there's something for you in this one. I really really hope it's in character!_

_Also if you are looking for something else to read in the crossover section I'd like to recommend **The Madman and the Rebel** by PrincessDaydream77 (Doctor Who/Downton Abbey) and **Period Drama Cage Match: Lady Grantham vs Lady Catherine **by evitamockingbird (Pride and Prejudice/Downton)_

_Enjoy :)_

* * *

><p>"Bored."<p>

"What?"

"Bored!" Edith watched as Sherlock flopped down onto the sofa.

"Nothing on the website?"

"Nothing. I don't know what's got into the criminal classes."

"Fancy another trip to Downton?"

"Uh, Edith, I envy you. Your mind. So domestic. My brain's like an engine, racing out of control. A rocket, tearing itself to pieces, trapped on the launch pad. I need a case!" He got up and walked to the window. "Look at that. Quiet. Calm. Peaceful. Isn't it hateful?"

"Any normal person would be glad." Edith teased.

Sherlock frowned. "Perhaps too quiet." Moments later his words were proven true, when the explosion, loud and powerful, pushed them both to the ground. Silence swallowed the room as they consciously wondered if they were still alive, still breathing. Once that was ascertained, both turned their thoughts to the other.

"Sherlock?"

"Edith?" They asked simultaneously. "Are you okay?" He continued.

"I think… ah!" She tried to sit up, but the pain rippled through her hand. She turned it over slowly, to see the blood starting to drip down her wrist.

"You need to get the glass out of that." Sherlock was already beside her. He took her wrist, helped her up and led her over to the kitchen sink. She hissed as the cold water hit the wound and let her eyes wander as Sherlock found some tweezers and proceeded to get the crystals of glass out of her hand. His grey pyjamas and blue dressing gown were covered in dust, much like the rest of the apartment.

"Sherlock, your feet!"

"It's nothing." He told her looking down at the similar gash across his left foot.

"There's TCP in the bathroom. Come on." She led the way. "Sit." She commanded. He perched himself on the edge of the bath while Edith tipped the liquid onto a wad of cotton wool. Sherlock grimaced as she placed it on his foot. He then watched her as she repeated the actions for herself, and he found himself smiling at her care. "We could stay at Grantham House tonight, if you want."

"Hmm?" Sherlock hadn't been listening.

"I said we could stay at Grantham House. I mean, even if we do get the windows boarded up it's not going to stop the wind. Do you think we should ask Mrs Hudson as well?"

"Her bedroom is rear facing, and I'd imagine the sandwich shop took most of the blast."

"Good. Are you alright? You still seem dazed."

"Me, what? Oh, yeah fine."

"I think I might go and treat myself to a Starbucks, do you want anything?"

"No." He stood up. "Thank you Edith." He kissed her lightly on the cheek and retreated to his bedroom, leaving her completely stunned.

~X~

When Edith returned, Sherlock was sitting, opposite Mycroft, in his usual chair.

"Gas leak, apparently." Mycroft announced. "I must warn you though, Lady Edith, your blog has seen an awful lot of activity over the past couple of days. It might bring you unwanted attention."

"What?"

"If it brings in some business it will be a blessing." Sherlock said, picking his violin up out of its case. "Bored!"

"I can always find you some work." Mycroft proffered.

"I'm sure anything Edith's blog brings in will be much more interesting than whatever you can find. Good day, Mycroft." He began plucking notes on the violin. Mycroft watched his brother for a few seconds, before taking his umbrella and making his way out of the apartment.

"Goodbye Lady Edith."

She waited until his footsteps had faded. "Why does he always insist on using my title?" She demanded.

Sherlock shrugged. "I think he's proud of it. He's always wanted a title, and if you're in the family it's almost like he's got one." He started playing some random notes, and then lapsed into a tune, while Edith digested what he'd said. In the family. Did he mean…? No. He's Sherlock, she told herself.

'Edith Holmes', she tried surreptitiously in her head. Startled at the path her thoughts were taking she decided to take a shower. A cold one maybe.

~X~

The following day the news of the gas leak was everywhere. Edith felt she could barely avoid it when she went out to get a few bits of shopping, but it was to be expected. Explosions in Capital cities tend to make big stories. However, Edith was unprepared for the mass of press on the doorstep of Grantham house.

"Miss Crawley…"

"Lady Edith…"

"What's it like living with a detective?"

"What made you decide to start the blog?"

"Do your parents know about your writing?"

"Can we get a picture of Sherlock?"

The questions blurred into a mass of noise as she tried to walk through them all. One man at the front purposefully blocked her way, forcing her to acknowledge him.

"Richard!" Edith exclaimed as she took in Mary's ex husband. "I thought you'd agreed to leave us alone."

"Oh I did, but Mary's no longer of interest. The focus is now all on the middle Crawley sister and her clandestine romance with the detective." He told her.

"It's hardly clandestine. He's just my flat mate and my parents have met him, now I'd like to go inside." She tried to sound in control. Begrudgingly Richard stepped aside. She opened the door as fast as she could to escape the increasing mob and collided with Sherlock in the entrance hall.

"Lestrade called. Coming?"

"Err, if you want me to."

"Of course. I'd be lost without my blogger." He smirked at her.

"Hang on. There are a couple of bits I need to put in the fridge and there's a whole load of media outside."

"Well, they won't be interested in us."

"A couple of them asked for pictures of you."

"For God's sake! I'm a private detective, the last thing I need is a public image."

"We can try the back door." Edith offered, feeling slightly guilty that her blog had already caused this.

"Good. And grab a hat or something. Cover your face and walk fast." Edith grabbed one of her mother's summer scarves and Sherlock grabbed her great-grandfather's deerstalker. They left quickly and hailed a taxi to drive them across town. Both landed in the leather seats and began giggling at how ridiculous they must look.

They arrived, still in high spirits, much to the confusion of Lestrade who took them up to his office.

"That explosion…"

"Gas leak, yes?"

"No."

"No?" Sherlock questioned.

"No, made to look like one. Hardly anything left of the place, except a strongbox. A very strong box, and inside it was this." He indicated to an envelope on the desk.

"You haven't opened it?"

"It's addressed to you isn't it?" Sherlock took it and examined it under the light.

"Nice stationery." He commented, then carefully opened it and frowned at the phone and its casing.

"Why is it pink?" Edith asked.

"Mock up of Jennifer Wilson's phone."

"What, from A Study in Pink?"

"Someone's gone to a lot of trouble to make it look… You read her blog?" He turned to Lestrade.

"Of course I read her blog. We all do. We want to know how you do it."

"Do what?"

"Solve things so quickly." Sherlock rolled his eyes at the Detective Inspector and waited for the phone to switch on.

"I knew the blog would prove more successful than Mycroft at bringing in work." He said happily.

_You have one new message._ Sherlock counted the pips as they sounded. Five.

"Is that it?" Edith asked.

"No, that's not it." He looked at the picture.

"What the hell are we supposed to make of that?" Lestrade asked. "An estate agent's photo and the bloody Greenwich pips."

"It's a warning." Sherlock said.

"A warning?" Edith repeated.

"Some secret societies used to send dried melon seeds, orange pips, things like that – five pips." He paused. "They're warning us it's going to happen again. I've seen this place before." He made to leave.

"Hang on. What's going to happen again?"

"Boom!"

* * *

><p><em>TBC...<em>


	20. Chapter 20

_20 Chapters! Wow! I can hardly believe I've made it this far! And it's partly due to the support I've had, so thank you!_

_Particular thanks to EllieMJayx, LewStonewar, RosesInJamJars, shana. rose, Mimi DuBois and Thymelady for reviewing the previous chapter._

_Enjoy :)_

* * *

><p>The room was in fact 221C – the basement flat of their own rooms. While they were there Sherlock took a phone call, giving him only twelve hours to solve whatever it was and revealing only a little more of the mix up they were in. Lestrade carefully removed the shoes that had been left, supposedly for them, so that they could be examined for finger prints and then made available for Sherlock to analyse at St. Bartholomew's. He was completely focused on the microscope, so much so that when his text alert went off he asked Edith to pass his phone.<p>

"Where is it?"

"Jacket." He replied. Edith raised an eyebrow at him, still wearing the jacket, but decided that he usually became more obnoxious when he was working, and that she didn't particularly want a moody Sherlock to deal with. She walked round behind him.

"Which pocket?" She asked.

"Where I usually keep my phone." He snapped. "Inner pocket." She slid her hand down his shoulder, feeling him tense up under her touch, and retracted the phone.

"It's from your brother." She told him.

"Delete it."

"Delete it?" She queried.

"I'm busy and it's obviously not important." Edith was about to question the decision further when the computer started beeping. "Ah!"

"Where?" Sherlock had been running a pollen search on some grains from the mud on the shoes.

"Sussex."

"Am I interrupting?" Thomas's head appeared around the door. Edith and Sherlock exchanged glances at the intrusion, but Thomas was already inside the room. "Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes." Another man had followed him in.

"Ah. So you're Sherlock Holmes. I've read all about you. You on one of your cases?" Sherlock ignored the question.

"Jim works in IT, upstairs." Thomas continued. "That's how we met. Office romance."

Sherlock looked up at the new man. "Gay." Was his only comment.

"Well, yeah. We're together." Thomas was spared Sherlock's retort due to the clattering of dishes over by where Jim was standing.

"Sorry. Sorry! Well, I'd better be off. Bye." He addressed Sherlock. "It was nice to meet you." Sherlock didn't answer. Jim looked to Thomas, who was still scowling, and the two men left.

"Well done!" Edith said sarcastically.

"What?"

"Saying that he's gay."

"Well it's obvious, isn't it?"

"Obvious?!" She exclaimed.

"Tinted eyelashes, clear signs of taurine cream around the frown lines. Those tired, clubber's eyes. Then there's his underwear."

"His underwear?" Edith repeated.

"Visible above the waistline. Very visible. Very particular brand. That plus the extremely suggestive fact that he just left his number under this dish here." Edith just looked at him for a second, and then burst out laughing. "What?"

"You missed the fact that he came in with Thomas!" She laughed.

"Thomas?"

"Don't tell me you didn't know he was gay?"

"Of course he's gay. The manicured nails. The hair product."

"But it didn't occur to you that they're a couple? Even when he said 'Office romance'?" She tutted at him, mockingly. Sherlock looked back to the trainers on the bench for a moment, studying them again.

"We need to go back to the flat. I need to find something. And bag those up carefully." He indicated to the shoes. "We're going to need them."

He was sullen on the way home, but then suddenly burst into life in his search. Edith made herself scarce, knowing that she would only get in the way.

She returned only when things were quiet. As expected the room was covered in papers, newspaper cuttings and all sorts. She didn't know where he kept it all. She tiptoed through the mess to get to the kitchen, but was stopped by Sherlock's soft whisper.

"Carl Powers."

"I'm sorry?"

"Carl Powers." He said more clearly.

"Sherlock, a little more explanation, if you don't mind." She coaxed.

"It's where I began." He looked at her, meaningfully. She was taken aback by the tenderness of his gaze. Few things meant a lot to Sherlock Holmes, but he was obviously about to share one with her. She moved a couple of papers and perched on the edge of the chair, facing him. "1989, young kid, champion swimmer, came up from Brighton for a school sports tournament, drowned in the pool. Tragic accident. You wouldn't remember it. Why should you?"

"But you remember."

"Yes."

"Something unusual about it?"

"Nobody thought so. Nobody except me." Edith smiled at his comment. "I was only a kid myself. I read about it in the papers."

"You started young, didn't you?" She said in admiration.

"The boy, Carl Powers, had some kind of fit in the water, but by the time they got him out, it was too late. There was something wrong, something I couldn't get out of my head."

"What?"

"His shoes. They weren't there. I made a fuss. I tried to get the police interested, but nobody seemed to think it was important. He'd left all the rest of his clothes in his locker, but there was no sign of his shoes. Until now." He was silent for a long moment. "Come on, we've only got five hours left." He stood up and walked, over the papers, to the kitchen. "Edith, can you grab me a couple of clean Petri dishes and some test tubes from downstairs? I used Mrs Hudson's dishwasher."

For the next hour or so Edith turned into his lab assistant, fetching various chemicals for Sherlock to use. The tests were methodical, one after another, with Sherlock pausing in between to stare into the microscope. She'd just brought up some refreshments when he made a breakthrough.

"Poison! Clostridium botulinum. It's one of the deadliest poisons on the planet. One kilogram of it would be enough to kill the entire human population."

"So he was murdered. Carl Powers."

"Yes."

"You were right."

"Yes."

"But how come the autopsy didn't pick up on that?" Edith asked.

"It's virtually undetectable. Nobody would have been looking for it, but there are still tiny traces of it left inside the shoes from where he put the cream on his feet. It would be the easiest thing in the world to introduce the poison into his medication. Two hours later he comes up to London, the poison takes effect, paralyses the muscles and he drowns. The shoes were the only piece of evidence. That's why they had to go."

"So… The killer kept the shoes all these years."

"Yes." Sherlock quickly typed a message up on his blog, summarising the find. "Meaning…"

"He's our bomber." Both of them looked at the pink phone as it started ringing.

'_Well done you. Come and get me.'_

"Where are you?" Sherlock asked into the phone. "Tell us where you are." He got the details and immediately phoned Lestrade.

~X~

The following day Sherlock and Edith went back to the police station, to talk to the Detective Inspector.

"She lives in Cornwall." He told them about the hostage. "Two men broke in wearing masks, forced her to drive to the car park and decked her out in enough explosives to take down a house! Told her to phone you. She had to read out from this – pager."

"And if she deviated by one word the sniper would set her off."

"Or if you hadn't solved the case." Lestrade added.

"Oh… Elegant." Sherlock muttered to himself.

"But what was the point?" Lestrade asked. "Why would anyone do this?"

"I can't be the only person in the world that gets bored."

* * *

><p><em>TBC...<em>


	21. Chapter 21

_Sorry for the delay! I started watching a couple of films with Swedish subtitles on (Language student. We do things like that.) and wanted to finish them before I came back to this. It took a bit longer than expected! However, I do now know what 'Live long and prosper' is in Swedish..._

_Back to the point. I feel like the story is a bit slow going at the moment. Hopefully it will pick up again at the end of this one. _

_As usual thanks to my reviewers: Thymelady, shana. rose, RosesInJamJars, MsStellaCeleste, Lulah and chauffeuredinthetardis_

_Unbeta'd._

_Enjoy :)_

* * *

><p>The text alert went off, capturing the attention of all three of them. Sherlock swiped the phone to get to it.<p>

_You have one new message._ Four pips.

"First test passed it would seem. Here's the second." He turned the phone around for them.

"A Mazda?" Edith didn't see anything useful in the photo at all.

"It's abandoned, wouldn't you say?"

"I'll see if it's been reported." Lestrade quickly called through to a different department. Meanwhile the pink phone started ringing.

"Hello?" Sherlock answered, walking out of the room. Edith watched him go.

"Found it." Lestrade announced replacing the phone in its cradle. "Building site, just south of the river."

"Okay, I'll get him." Edith could see Sherlock staring blankly ahead of him, so she slowly walked up and placed her hand on his shoulder. "They've found the car." She told him. He nodded slightly.

"Come on, let's go. We've got eight hours."

As usual Sherlock hailed a taxi for the two of them as opposed to accompanying Lestrade in the police car. When they arrived, the area had been taped off and forensic teams were already investigating.

"The car was hired yesterday morning by an Ian Monkford. Banker of some kind. City boy. Paid in cash. Told his wife he was going away on a business trip and he never arrived." Lestrade reeled off.

"You're still hanging round him then?" Sally approached Edith.

"Yeah."

"Is he as hellish to live with as he is to work with?"

Edith smiled. "I'm used to it. The flat's never tidy, and I'm never bored, so it's completely different to Downton."

This time Sally's expression softened. "Is Downton Abbey really as grand as people say it is?"

"Sure, but then I'm biased." The two women laughed.

"So why Sherlock?" Sally wasn't going to let this drop. "Opposites attract, I s'pose."

"Opposites?" Edith couldn't help but think the first thing she'd look for in an opposite was straight hair. Sally was going to elaborate, but Lestrade called her over.

"See you around." Sally walked off, and Edith wandered over to where Sherlock was standing with another woman.

"This is horrible, isn't it? I mean, I just can't believe it." He said emotionally. "Can you darling?" Edith felt his arm settle round her waist, his hand just above her hip.

"Err… no. No."

"We only saw him the other day. Same old Ian, not a care in the world!"

"Sorry…" The woman looked confused. "But my husband has been depressed for months. Who are you?"

"Really strange that he hired a car. Why would he do that? It's a bit suspicious, isn't it?"

"No it isn't. He forgot to renew the tax on the car, that's all."

"Ah, well! That was Ian. That was Ian all over."

"No it wasn't."

"Wasn't it?" He said, his voice normal, although Edith could have sworn he sounded slightly… husky. And that his grip around her waist tightened before he let his arm fall to his side again. "Interesting." Edith followed him as he walked away from the scene.

"What was all that about?"

"People don't like telling you things. They love to contradict you. Past tense, did you notice?"

"Err…"

"I referred to her husband in the past tense. She joined in. Bit premature. They've only just found the car."

"Okay." She said slowly. "Where now?"

"Janus cars. Just fond this in the glove compartment." They whizzed across town to get to the garage. Edith stepped out of the taxi, when her phone demanded her attention.

"Hello?" She answered, irritated at the distraction.

"_Edith, what time are you getting here tomorrow? I've got a couple of friends driving past the station if you need picking up. Or if you can get here earlier, you can help set up. Sybil's got most of the marquees sorted, but there are still loads of odd jobs."_

"Wait! Mary. What?"

"_The garden party. You are coming aren't you? Sybil said she'd told you about it." _

Edith looked helplessly at Sherlock and gestured that he should go in without her. "She said something about a help for heroes event." She could practically feel Mary roll her eyes as she said it.

"_We decided to combine it with the summer garden party. As a Crawley, you have to put in an appearance."_

"But Mary, I'm busy!"

"_Well, you'll have to stop being busy for tomorrow. It's going to be an occasion."_

"Mary! Mary?" But the dial tone signalled that her sister had hung up. "Damn it!" She dialled Sybil's number. "Sybil! Hi. Mary just called me. What's happening tomorrow?"

"_Well, Help for Heroes got combined with the garden party, but oh Edith, it's going to be amazing."_ Sybil said dreamily.

"I'm sure it will be good." Edith replied, somewhat confused by her sister's comment. "But I'm not sure I can make it."

"_What?"_ Sybil replied sharply. _"You have to be there!"_

"Sybil, we're on the trail of a bomber here in London. I'm not sure I can spare the time."

"_No, no, no, you have to. You'll want to be here. Please Edith, I want you to be here."_

"Sybil, why? What's so special about this event?"

"_Edith, I…"_

"Edith?" Sherlock called, walking out of the building. She gestured for him to shut up and concentrated on her sister.

"_I can't tell you. It's going to be a surprise."_ She paused. _"But it will be a special announcement of some sort."_ She giggled. Edith couldn't help but grin when she realised what her sister was suggesting.

"Okay. I'll do my best to be there."

"_Good! See you tomorrow. Bye."_

"Edith. I need you to do something for me." Sherlock instructed. "Go in there and say you're in trouble. Say that a friend recommended the company. Ask if they can help you." She nodded, trying to push aside the thoughts of her sister.

"What sort of trouble?"

"Financial, marital, something like that. And Edith, if it gets too much, say you need some time to think about it and come out."

"Okay, but why?"

"Mr Ewart's a liar."

She went in and Mr Ewart asked her a lot of questions, such as 'Do you have life insurance?' and 'Do you have any relatives in Portugal or Columbia?' but didn't really give her any answer of help. She just hoped that what she had found out was enough for Sherlock. She couldn't stand the overly heated office, with that smarmy man for much longer. She relayed this to Sherlock, who had waited outside. He smiled at the information, seemingly satisfied.

"There's just one more test I need to do at the hospital. Coming?"

He tested the sample of blood Lestrade had sent over, while Edith made small talk with Molly. Very small talk, but it didn't seem to matter, as they were both content just watching Sherlock. It didn't take long until he was wearing that smirk that meant he was right about something. He didn't say anything, just got up walked round behind Edith and Molly, took Edith's hand in his and led her out of the room and out of the building, leaving Molly utterly shocked and somewhat jealous.

Outside the air was still muggy. Sherlock, with his free hand tried to hail a taxi, and almost got hit by the black car that slithered up behind them. Sherlock groaned, but opened the door for Edith anyway, before climbing in himself.

"Scotland yard, and make it snappy." He told the driver, ignoring his brother in the process.

"So, another case cracked."

"What are you doing here?"

"The Earl and Countess of Grantham have requested our presence, as friends of the family, to attend the annual garden party. Shall I pick you both up at nine o'clock? That should give us enough time to get there." He smiled. Sherlock looked to Edith for more information on the subject, but she looked just as stunned as he was. "Mr Matthew's spending has been extreme this month, so I'm looking forward to seeing the final result." Mycroft continued.

"Matthew?" Edith asked. "I thought it was Sybil's big event."

This time Mycroft looked surprised. "Sybil?"

"Yeah."

Mycroft whipped out his little book of information. "To the journalist?" Edith nodded. "Interesting." For the remainder of the journey the Holmes boys were silent and Edith couldn't fathom what to say in this situation. One or the other of her sisters would be getting engaged. She'd already ruined the surprise by badgering Sybil, and thinking back on the conversations she still couldn't figure which one of them it would be. However, her curiosity would have to wait because Sherlock was already exiting the now stationary car.

* * *

><p><em>TBC...<em>

_Also Good Luck to anyone getting their results tomorrow! :)_


	22. Chapter 22

_Apologies again. Real life got in the way._

_Massive thanks to LewStonewar, shana. rose, queenlovett, RosesInJamJars, Lulah, The Arcticourt Spellwright and especially to Thymelady who pointed me in the direction of some wonderful pictures of Laura and Benedict out together._

_Lots of interrupted conversations in this one. Hopefully it's not too confusing! Unbeta'd._

_Enjoy. :)_

* * *

><p>"Does this look alright?" Edith asked, stepping out from the bathroom in a white lace dress with a fawn coloured belt. Sherlock was sat on the sofa, impatiently tapping his fingers.<p>

"It's fine."

"Are you sure the yellow one isn't better."

"Edith! Mycroft will be here in a minute, and he won't bother waiting for you to change again. He's not exactly patient."

"And you are?" She muttered sarcastically, retreating into the bathroom. Sherlock frowned at the now closed door.

"He's archaic and a confirmed bachelor. At least I have a female flatmate."

"Hair up or down?" She reappeared, ignoring his comment.

"Up. It's more flattering with the neckline of that dress." She started twisting it up, but he stopped her. "No, not like that!" He jumped up and took the hairbrush from her, slowly working her curls into an elegant bun at the nape of her neck. "Do you have any pins?"

"Umm, yeah." Luckily they were in reach for her to hand them to him, and avoid the awkward shuffle across the room, while trying to keep your head as still as possible.

"Might we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?" Mycroft drawled upon seeing their domestic scene. Edith watched as Sherlock's reflection in the mirror rolled his eyes.

"We're getting two today, isn't that enough?"

"I wouldn't count on that."

"Why not?" He pushed the last pin into her hair. "There. That should hold." He turned away, while Edith admired the results in the mirror.

"Very nice, shall we go?" Mycroft gestured towards the door. Sherlock had already gone.

"Hang on, I'll just grab a bag." She tried to ignore the audible sigh as she dashed from the room to find her hand bag.

~X~

Downton was basking in sunshine when they arrived.

"Hello darling." Edith allowed her mother to hug her. "And Sherlock, it's good to see you again."

"It's a pleasure to be here, Lady Grantham." Cora then looked to the other man in the party.

"Mycroft Holmes, your ladyship. Sherlock's older brother."

"Mycroft, welcome to Downton. I hope the journey wasn't too tiring."

"The motorway was busy." Edith answered. "That's why we're late… What's he doing here?" Cora turned around to look at the cause of Edith's outburst.

"Thomas? You know he did his medical training with Sybil, and his boyfriend at the time was a soldier. I've forgotten his name now."

"Edward." Sybil appeared beside them.

"Then why's his new boyfriend here?" She caught Sherlock's glare, warning her to hold her tongue.

"Oh Edith, lighten up!" Sybil scolded. "But I'm glad you're here." She smiled. "There are some people I want you to meet." Sybil dragged her sister across the lawn to one of the marquees. "Mariah, Imogen, I would like to introduce my sister, Edith. Imogen is one of the girls I work with and Mariah is Larry's younger sister. You remember Larry, don't you?"

"Of course, hello." The women stayed talking, leaving Sherlock and Mycroft in each others company.

"Sybil's plan to integrate the social classes didn't work." Mycroft stated.

"Obviously." Sherlock answered, his focus on the pink phone. He didn't need to look up to know that the invited soldiers were all stood awkwardly to one side. Instead his phone rewarded him with three pips, and a picture of a woman. He frowned at the image, before tucking it back into his jacket. "Matthew's been talking to Lord Grantham for a long time now."

"It's Matthew already, is it?" Mycroft sneered. "You're practically one of them." Sherlock's features remained frosty, but he continued to observe as Robert patted Matthew on the shoulder and nodded enthusiastically.

"Mary will like that."

"What will she like?" A woman interrupted.

"The floral arrangements." Sherlock lied. She raised an eyebrow at that, clearly unimpressed.

"You must be the detective. Rosamund Painswick." She offered as an introduction, before turning to Mycroft. "And you are?"

"Mycroft Holmes."

"Well, isn't that tidy. I must say though, you are a little overdressed. You must be boiling in that suit."

"Rosamund! Stop being so vulgar." Violet walked over to them, brandishing her walking stick as usual.

"I'm sorry mama, but you know me. I have to say what I think."

"Why? Nobody else does." The dowager looked to Sherlock then. "Well, unless it truly is in everybody's best interests. Sherlock, dear, it's good to see you again."

"It's a pleasure, Lady Grantham." Rosamund snorted at the polite formalities, earning her a disgusted look from Violet.

"Lady Ann MacNair has become quite a fan of yours since she discovered the internet. May I introduce you?" She addressed Sherlock again.

"Of course." He replied flatly. Violet smiled and led Sherlock away.

"So Mycroft, what do you do? Mama already seems smitten with your brother."

"I occupy a minor position in the British Government."

"Government? How interesting. Liberal or Conservative?"

"Not that sort of…"

"Only I know a number of liberal ministers on the front bench. My late husband, Marmaduke, had business dealings with many of them…" Rosamund continued to prattle on, ignorant of Mycroft's obvious boredom and prior knowledge of the family.

"I'm sorry I couldn't rescue your brother as well." Violet commented once they were far enough away.

"He can take care of himself."

"So I assumed. Now I won't trouble you with the company of that bothersome old woman, but I do suggest that you rescue Edith. She seems to have been cornered. One of Robert's dreary neighbours and a ghastly newspaper man. Goodness only knows why Cora invited them. Now, I must go and have a word with my son." Sherlock shook his head at the old lady's antics, but he found himself smiling fondly. An ally in Violet Crawley could not be a bad thing. He looked at the picture on his phone again before wandering over to Edith.

"…And he took you to that horrible place?" One of the men asked her.

"Well, we didn't know how the drug got there, so it wasn't…"

"My paper would love a column like this. Exciting. Well written. Interesting." The other man interrupted.

"Edith." She spun round, relief evident in her features. "Three pips." Her eyes widened at his words.

"You must be Sherlock Holmes! Michael Gregson. I was just complimenting Miss Crawley on her blog."

"Excuse us." She blanked the two men and dragged Sherlock away, much like her grandmother had done. "What was the message?" He flashed the picture up.

"Do you know who she is?"

She frowned at it, mirroring Sherlock's reaction from earlier. "No."

"Do you think one of your admirers might know?" He indicated to where the two men were still standing.

"I doubt it. Aunt Rosamund would be the most likely to know. She's the gossip around here." Edith told him, as Mary approached Rosamund and Mycroft.

"Mycroft!" Mary greeted as her aunt finally walked away. "It's good to see you again under better circumstances."

"Indeed. How are you doing, Lady Mary."

"Very well, thank you." She paused. "So what do you make of this little partnership?" She asked, glancing back over at Edith and Sherlock.

Mycroft stood contemplatively. "She could be the making of my brother, or make him worse than ever. Anyway, they'll be the last people to admit to themselves that…"

"Mary, can I steal you for a moment? Your father is going to make the announcement." Matthew placed his hand on her arm affectionately.

"Oh. Yes of course. Mycroft, excuse us." She said excitedly.

"You put one or two things on the internet and people start acting like they know you." Edith continued moaning. "Granted I've known Anthony for years, but he's never sought me out to speak to in all that time. Sherlock?" She'd lost his attention at some point during her rant.

"Say hello to bridesmaid number one." He pointed to the hug and excited squeals of Sybil and her best friend, Gwen, but something else caught Edith's attention. Behind her sister, Jim said something to Thomas, who nodded his acceptance, and the other man walked off, his phone to his ear. She was about to inform Sherlock, but was brought swiftly back to the present situation by her father.

"Ladies and Gentlemen. Can I ask for silence? Because I am delighted to have Matthew and my daughter Mary here to announce their engagement. I hope you will all join in a toast to their happiness." Edith's gaze wandered from the blissfully happy expression of her older sister, to the hurt worn by her younger sister. It was only when Sherlock's phone went off, that she realised she'd been lost in her thoughts.

"I have to go to Sybil." Sherlock nodded and she made her way through the crowd.

"Hello?" He answered.

"_This one is a bit… defective. Sorry. She's blind. This is… a funny one. I'll give you twelve hours."_

He looked around. Edith was with her sister. Most people still had their attention turned to Mary and Matthew. He needed data. Quickly. He strode over to Rosamund.

"Lady Rosamund, I was wondering if you could help me? Do you know who this is?" He showed her the picture.

"That's Connie Prince. She's got one of the biggest makeover shows on telly. Why?"

"Thank you. That's all I needed." Sherlock bluntly ignored her question and walked quickly back to his brother's black car. Luckily Mycroft was already seated amid the plush leather.

"Took you longer than normal." Mycroft referred to Sherlock's usual anti-social preferences.

"Shut up. I need internet."

* * *

><p><em>TBC...<em>


	23. Chapter 23

_Sorry! Again! I suppose I can't blame you if you've all given up on me! Maybe I can offer some excuses? One is called The Enemy of my Enemy and is a DA/Star trek crossover with more Sherlock/Edith goodness. Another is Tom and Sybil (deceased) written for the Paranormal S/T challenge._

_Shoutout to shana. rose, Mimi DuBois, Lulah, queenlovett and MsStellaCeleste for your comments._

_Enjoy. :)_

* * *

><p>Sybil had been deflecting all her questions, but Edith could feel her sister's frustration radiating off of her. It was the champagne that finally broke her down. The waiter had simply asked if they wanted a glass, but Sybil lashed out, the tray and its contents going everywhere.<p>

"I wanted to tell them today, to avoid the drama of me going to Ireland with Tom unmarried. I thought 'engaged' would be close enough, and that maybe they'd be happy for me. But no, I missed my moment and now dad will dispute everything I tell him because Tom will never be as good as Matthew in his eyes!" It was said in anger, but Edith knew the truth in her sister's words. Robert had idolised Matthew almost from the moment he had met him. But Edith also knew that their father had a soft spot for Sybil, so she figured they could work it out. She hugged Sybil tightly, hoping to convey some positivity.

"When are you leaving for Ireland?" She finally asked.

"The day after tomorrow." Sybil sniffed.

"So soon! I didn't realise."

"Edith, why don't you come with me?" Sybil asked, pulling out of the embrace.

"What?"

"You could help me finish packing my stuff here and then fly over with me." She sounded immediately happier. "Please? Come with me?"

"Umm, yes, okay. I'll have to let Sherlock know, but wow. I haven't been to Ireland before."

"You'll love it! And thank you."

"There you both are. We thought we'd lost you." Sybil's expression turned to ice.

"Mary! Congratulations!" Edith said, sincerely.

"Thank you." Mary turned to her youngest sister. "Sybil, what is it?"

"Nothing. Congratulations. Now if you'll excuse me I need to go and pack."

"Pack?" Mary questioned. "You're leaving already?"

"Yes, I'm leaving. I'm moving to Ireland. To live with Tom." Sybil explained.

Mary scoffed. "Darling, don't be so silly. Have you told Papa?"

"No. I was going to today, but…"

"Oh, so it's my fault, is it? I'm the one who has ruined everything." Mary snapped sarcastically.

"I wanted their acceptance, but I'm not going to steal your thunder. Wish me luck with it, Mary. God knows I wish the best for you." Sybil walked off, leaving Mary stunned.

"So, you're both getting married and leaving me as the maiden aunt." Edith joked.

"You knew, didn't you?" Mary accused.

"Well, I suspected."

"You knew and you didn't think to tell me?"

"Mary!" Edith exclaimed indignantly. "I've barely seen you today."

"No. You couldn't tear yourself away from your own boyfriend."

"He's not my…" Mary was already retreating into the social scene she loved so much. Edith sighed. She was fighting a losing battle with her older sister so she decided to try to find Sybil, and texted Sherlock en route.

Where are you? Xx

Thinking. SH

His reply was immediate, making Edith laugh at the uselessness of it in relation to her question, yet giving her all she needed to know at the same time.

~X~

The following day, after a confrontation with their father in the morning, which Edith desperately tried to avoid, but got dragged into anyway, the girls continued packing Sybil's stuff. Around midday, Edith got an alert come up on her phone informing her of an update to Sherlock's blog.

_Raoul de Santos, the house boy, Botox._

She smiled at the screen, wishing she could be with him to hear the whole story. She knew he did it to show off, but it thrilled her every time he reeled off the things that were 'obvious' and the inferences he made from that.

Lunch was a cold affair. Mary and Matthew had gone out, leaving Robert and Cora to openly question Sybil's decisions. By the evening, Sybil had escaped to see Tom, who was staying in the village and Edith had plonked herself in front of the TV and was flicking channels. She stopped on the local news, half expecting to see a piece on Mary and Matthew's engagement, however the headline was more serious.

_12 dead in gas explosion._

Not even bothering to watch the programme, she dialled Sherlock's number.

"Sherlock. What's happened?"

"_Well, obviously I lost that round. Although technically I did solve the case."_ She could tell by the catch in his voice that he was upset, and angry, but she knew it was because he had 'lost' as opposed to the fact he was, more or less, being toyed with. _"He killed the old lady because she started to describe him. Just once, he put himself in the firing line."_

"What do you mean?" She asked.

"_Well, usually he must stay above it all. He organises these things, but no-one ever has direct contact."_

"So why was this one different? Did he just happen to be in Yorkshire?"

"_What? No. The old lady was blind. No pager to read from. He was talking to her directly."_

"Oh." She paused, thinking of all the people in those flats.

"Caring about them won't help save them, Edith." He told her gently, as if he had been reading her thoughts.

She sighed. "I know, I know. I just… sometimes it would be nice if it did. So, have you heard from him again, the bomber?" She asked, changing the subject.

"Nothing. Ah!" He exclaimed excitedly.

"Was that him?"

"No, that was the microwave."

"An experiment?" Edith questioned, but the line was already dead.

~X~

The next time she heard from him was when she turned her phone back on, after the flight.

Taking his time, this time. SH

Bored. SH

Meanwhile, they had made their way out of the airport and Tom hailed a cab for them. His flat was practically in the centre of Dublin, as far as Edith could tell. It was bright and welcoming and she couldn't help but notice a couple of Sybil's personal effects already scattered about.

"Okay. Tom, you make tea. Edith, get ready to unpack, and I'll cue the music!" Sybil was obviously in 'army-mode'. Edith mock saluted her, but burst out laughing when 'Barbie Girl' filled the flat.

"Nothing like cheesy music to get things done." Sybil stated as she walked back into the room, brandishing Tom's laptop. "If you think of any other songs, just add them to the list. And skip the adverts." She indicated to Youtube. "Now…" Edith watched as her sister descended upon a box and opened it with all the enthusiasm of a kid at Christmas, while still dancing along to the music. It was only when Tom smacked Sybil on the bum that Edith figured she should get on with something.

A few hours and several stuffed toy and pillow fights later, Tom was sent out to find something for lunch, leaving the girls sitting on the floor, still with the music on.

"What are you going to do about your job?" Edith asked as 'In the Army Now' started playing.

Sybil laughed. "Well, because of my 'injury' I missed my dispatch. I'd have been stuck at an army base doing basic first aid training or helping in the mess. So I thought I'd come here and do something useful. I've got a post at one of the local hospitals."

"Sybil, that's great!"

"I know! I'm so excited to start. And what about you? How's the blog?"

"It's going well, although we've had some unwanted attention as a result! I even saw Richard."

Sybil pulled a face. "Ugh. I have never understood what Mary saw in him."

"No. I haven't either."

"Well, I suppose you'd only ever see Tom, if you got involved in government issues."

"That's easy enough, with Mycroft being Sherlock's brother."

"Mycroft Holmes isn't really in government." Tom countered from the door.

_No, he is the British Government, when he's not too busy being the British secret service or the CIA on a freelance basis._ Edith bit back the retort.

"But I have got lunch." Tom added, earning a happy squeal from Sybil.

* * *

><p><em>TBC...<em>

_And apologies on any wrong details concerning Sybil's job change. I know absolutely nothing about the army, so I don't know if she could just leave like that. Hopefully it sounds believable!?_


	24. Chapter 24

Okay, quick thanks and I'll let you read! RosesInJamJars, shana. rose, MsStellaCeleste and Mimi DuBois you are all awesome.

Enjoy. :)

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><p>It had been a good day, even by Sherlock's standards. He had solved the issue of the fake painting yesterday evening and had spent the morning with Lestrade interviewing the Wenceslas woman. Then he did a bit of burglary for Mycroft, well, to stop Mycroft trying to call him again anyway. But he still felt like something was missing. Despite all the excitement he felt flat. After figuring out about the supernova in the painting, he'd set Lestrade to rescue the hostage and then left, without his usual flourished explanation. No. Something was definitely missing and Edith wasn't back yet. She'd texted him earlier to say that she was at the airport in Dublin. He knew her flight hadn't been delayed, but he hadn't heard from her since, which was very unlike her. He'd even resorted to watching TV while he waited, after leaving a message for the bomber on his blog.<p>

_Found. The Bruce-Partington plans. Please collect. The Pool. Midnight._

10 O'clock, 11 O'clock. Still no sign of Edith. It was possible that she might have gone back to Downton, but Sherlock couldn't figure out why. Anyway, he needed to deal with the situation at hand, and he could find out about Edith later. The summer nights were hot, so he left his scarf and coat at 221B and walked to the pool. He pushed his way through the creaky doors and stood by the water's edge. It was eerie, with the glow of lights in the water, contrasting to the darkness outside.

"Bought you a little getting-to-know-you present." He announced into the hot and charged air, holding the memory stick out in front of him. "That's what it's all been for, isn't it? All your little puzzles, making me dance. All to distract me from this." He twirled around, not knowing where his mystery guest might appear from, but when he turned back, his eyes settled on the one person he wasn't expecting. "Edith?" He breathed.

"Hiya, honey. Did you miss me?"

The tone of her voice was wrong. She sounded forced, uneasy, unnatural. He looked at her questioningly, and she shook her head gently in response.

"This is a turn up, isn't it… darling? Bet you never saw this coming."

Sherlock watched the way her hands were shaking as she began to unbutton her coat, then at the apologetic way her eyes met his as it became obvious that she was the one decked out in explosives. He sucked in a breath at the sight of the wires and materials that were distorting her slim figure.

"What… would you like me to make her say… next?"

Halted speech. Same as all the others.

"Oh, Sherlock. Sherlock darling…"

"Stop it." He commanded.

"She's not very convincing, is she?" Another pause. "Nice touch this." Edith continued. "The pool, where little Carl died. I stopped him. I can stop Miss Crawley too." Her voice caught in her throat, and Sherlock could see tears in her eyes. "Stop her heart."

"Who are you?" Sherlock shouted into the shadows.

"I gave you my number. I thought you might call." A new voice joined in the game, from the other side of the pool. "Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?"

"Both." Sherlock asserted confidently, pointing the gun at his nemesis. Edith cringed slightly, still too scared to move more than was absolutely necessary, but his lack of social skills could land Sherlock in trouble, particularly with sarcasm and innuendo.

"Jim Moriarty. Hi!" The other man greeted. "Jim? Jim from the hospital? Oh, did I really make such a fleeting impression? But then, I suppose, that was rather the point."

Sherlock glanced at Edith. She'd been right to question his being at the garden party and he, Sherlock, had dismissed it. He had been wrong and she had been right. Jim obviously took the look to mean something else.

"Don't be silly. Someone else is holding the rifle. I don't like getting my hands dirty." Moriarty continued.

"Is that where Thomas gets it from? From you? And I thought his compulsive hand washing came from a traumatic past, and a desperate attempt to rid himself of the smell of cigarettes." Sherlock quipped.

Jim ignored him. "I've given you a glimpse, Sherlock, just a teensy glimpse of what I've got going on out there in the big bad world. I'm a specialist, you see. Like you."

"Dear Jim… Please will you fix it for me… to get rid of my lover's nasty sister? Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me to disappear to South America?"

"Just so."

"Consulting criminal. Brilliant."

Edith frowned. She was tied to a bomb, and Sherlock was being his usual self and complimenting the man who had done it.

"Isn't it. No-one ever gets to me." Jim boasted. "And no-one ever will."

"I did." Sherlock retorted.

"You've come the closest. Now you're in my way!"

"Thank you."

"Didn't mean it as a compliment."

"Then you must've said it wrong."

"Fine, okay, it was." Jim retracted. "But the flirting's over Sherlock. Daddy's had enough now. I've shown you what I can do. I cut loose all those people, all those little problems, even 30 million quid, just to get you to come out and play. So take this as a friendly warning… my dear. Back off. Although, I have loved this, this little game of ours. Playing Jim from IT. Playing gay. Did you like the little touch with the underwear?"

"People have died." Sherlock stated plainly.

"That's what people do!" Jim yelled. The sound echoing round the pool.

"I will stop you."

"No you won't."

"Are you alright?" Sherlock suddenly addressed Edith.

"You can talk, milady. Go ahead." Jim reassured her. Edith looked up at Sherlock and nodded. She didn't trust her voice just yet.

"Take it." Sherlock abruptly turned back to Moriarty.

"Mm? Oh… that. The missile plans." He took the memory stick, looked at it for a bit, and then tossed it in the water. "Boring! I could have got them anywhere." Moriarty continued pacing around them. "Do you know what happens now, if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock? To you?"

"Oh, let me guess. I get killed." He replied, bored.

"Kill you?" Jim screwed his nose up at the remark. "No. Don't be obvious. I mean, I'm going to kill you anyway, some day. I don't want to rush it though. I'm saving it up for something special. No, no, no, no, no. If you don't stop prying, I'll burn you. I'll burn the heart out of you."

"I have been reliably informed that I don't have one."

"But we both know that's not quite true." Jim looked pointedly over his shoulder at Edith. "Well, I'd better be off." He turned back to Sherlock. "It was so nice to have had a proper chat."

"What if I was to shoot you now? Right now?" Sherlock questioned.

"Then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face. 'Cos I'd be surprised, Sherlock. Really I would. And just a teensy bit… disappointed. And of course you wouldn't be able to cherish it for very long. Ciao, Sherlock Holmes."

"Catch you later."

"No you won't!"

Sherlock, still with the gun trained on Moriarty's retreating form, turned his eyes to Edith. She looked pale, and exhausted. He immediately put the gun down and knelt in front of her, undoing the buckles of the explosive harness.

"Are you alright?" He asked forcefully.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm… I'm fine." She gasped, her breathing erratic. "Sherlock… I'm so sorry." He pulled the coat off her and pushed the whole thing along the ground away from them.

"Sorry? For what?"

"I… I shouldn't have got caught up in it." Her eyes were shining with tears again.

"Hey. You're safe now." Sherlock stood in front of her and tentatively wrapped his arms around her. He could feel how tense she was and how much weight she was trusting him with, as if her legs had given way beneath her. He tightened his grip as she rested her head on his shoulder.

"Are you okay?" She whispered.

"Me? Yeah, fine. Fine." He pulled away slightly to look at her properly, unable to resist tucking a stray curl back behind her ear and trailing his fingers down her cheek. Looking at her in the way he was, it wasn't hard to notice the red light that reappeared on her forehead. Sherlock groaned.

"Sorry guys! I'm so changeable!" Moriarty's voice broke the moment. "It is a weakness with me, but to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness. You can't be allowed to continue. You just can't. I would try to convince you, but everything I have to say has already crossed your mind."

Sherlock had avoided her gaze while Jim was talking, but now his eyes were searching hers out with an intensity Edith hadn't seen before. A dark question. One he was begging for an answer to. She nodded her consent as he took her hand in his.

"Probably my answer has crossed yours." He pointed the gun at Moriarty, who only smirked. Edith squeezed Sherlock's hand as he slowly lowered the aim of the gun, making his intention quite clear. Jim looked unsettled, but didn't flinch. Silence once more filled the heavy air as all three of them waited for the outcome of this midnight meeting.

* * *

><p><em>Mwahaha. Is your hatred for Moriarty renewed? ;)<em>

_TBC..._


	25. Chapter 25

_101 reviews?! I love you all! Virtual cookies all round!_

_Thanks especially to Mimi DuBois, shana. rose, MsStellaCeleste, RosesInJamJars, Guest, TraduccionesNortia, Theatre Phoenix and Guest._

_I am so, so sorry for the delay. "Confusticate and bebother these dwarves!" And elves for that matter. And Hobbitsesss preciousss. They've been distracting me something terrible. As well as Uni, essays, exams, etc…_

_I'm not sure how I feel about this one. I wanted it to be perfect, but it's turned into a bit of a filler chapter. Also I keep trying to go back to the Sherlock storylines, and then Downton seems to creep back in there anyway. But there is a quote from the book (The Sign of the Four) that I have been wanting to include for ages, and it seemed to fit with this scenario… Or I hope it does at least! I'll leave you to find out… :)_

* * *

><p>The silence stretched on. The only sound Edith was aware of was her own erratic heartbeat, so it made her jump when the music started. Sherlock was twitching, so he was also confused, but it was Moriarty who suddenly asked;<p>

"Do you mind if I get that?"

"Oh no, please." Sherlock answered with mock politeness. "You've got the rest of your life." Jim took his mobile from his pocket and answered it. Edith shared a glance with Sherlock.

"Say that again!" Jim suddenly demanded into the phone. "Say that again and know that if you're lying to me, I will find you and I will _sskiin_ you."

Edith blinked. 'Changeable' was an understatement!

"Wait." Moriarty walked menacingly towards them again, stopping by the explosives. Sherlock cocked the gun. "Sorry, wrong day to die." Jim drawled.

"Oh, did you get a better offer?" Sherlock asked condescendingly.

Moriarty looked down at the phone. "You'll be hearing from me Sherlock." Jim resumed his conversation, well, series of threats and empty promises, as he exited the building, taking the attention of his snipers with him and they were left once more in silence.

"What happened there?" Edith asked.

"Someone changed his mind. The question is; who? Come on. Let's go home. We're not going to find anything else out tonight, and you must be exhausted."

She nodded. Wordlessly he got them out of the building and into a taxi. Edith leaned against the cold leather and tried to relax, but she wasn't helped by Sherlock's keen eyes watching her every second. At Baker Street she walked up the stairs, ready to just collapse into bed, but she felt Sherlock's hand on her arm and so she turned to look at him. Before her tired mind could comprehend what was happening, his hands were gently framing her face and his lips were pressed against hers. The kiss was slow, but Edith couldn't recall such a blissful feeling of contentment. Eventually he stepped back.

"Goodnight Edith." He whispered and disappeared to his own room. Edith however stayed frozen to the spot, while her mind went into overdrive. Sherlock had kissed her! Did that really just happen? An hour ago she'd been tied to a bomb and now… now… It was like a dream. Sherlock! Wow. Somehow she made it to her room, and exhaustion once more took over, but it didn't wipe the smile from her lips.

~X~

Edith woke to the sweet sound of Sherlock's violin, filling the flat with various melodies. She lay still for some time, allowing her mind to go over the events of the past twenty four hours, before finally dragging herself away from her duvet to find the source of the music.

"Ah, good, you're awake. I need you to get the items on this list." Edith took the piece of paper that Sherlock was waving at her, and frowned at it.

"Can't you get them?" Sherlock added a couple of notes to the manuscript.

"We agreed that there's no point in my leaving the flat for anything less than a seven. Food shopping doesn't exactly rank highly."

"It would rank if me and Mrs Hudson weren't running around after you all the time." She muttered. "But when did we agree that?"

"We agreed it yesterday."

"I was in Dublin yesterday!" She exclaimed.

"I can't help it if you weren't listening." He smirked at her, immediately breaking composure and making her laugh.

"What do you need all these things for anyway?" She asked, reading over the shopping list again. "Chicken, asparagus, eggs, cream…"

"Your father is coming to dinner."

Edith blinked at him. "What?"

"Blame Mycroft. He was here earlier, when your father called in, and made inconvenient dining arrangements."

"And he told you to buy all this stuff in the hope I'd be able to make something from it?"

"No. I'm cooking. Edith, you have never yet recognised my merits in the kitchen." She raised an eyebrow at that. The only time she'd actually seen Sherlock cook was when he concocted a salad in the middle of the night, and to what extent that counted as cooking she wasn't sure.

"Oh, fine." She said, more to herself considering Sherlock had already turned back to his music.

~X~

When she returned with the shopping, Sherlock virtually pounced on the bag, emptying the contents around the kitchen, shoving some flasks and pipettes out of the way. Edith watched in trepidation as he cracked an egg into a bowl of ingredients he had already made up and stirred it with such ferocity that he ended up with more of the mixture on him and the floor, rather than in the bowl. Knowing it would only get more chaotic, Edith left him to it figuring that she could use the time to update her blog. She sat cross legged on her bed with her laptop open to try and craft something readable out of the recent escapade with Moriarty. After an hour of very little typing, but a lot of scrolling through facebook, Edith jumped as her text alert went off.

_Edith._

It was from Sherlock. She frowned and quickly replied.

_Yes?_

_I need your help. SH_

She was about to ask where he was, but the sound of clattering dishes answered the question for her. Walking into the kitchen her senses were assaulted from all sides. The room was a complete mess, but the smell from the oven was amazing.

"Mmm, smells great!"

"Edith!" Sherlock was obviously startled, which was odd, considering he always knew where everyone was and had hearing that Edith considered non-human.

"You okay?" She asked.

"Of course I'm okay." He dismissed her question.

Edith shrugged. "You did ask for my help."

"Oh, yes. Pudding. Dessert. Whatever, It's always been my least proficient course. What should I make?"

Edith laughed at that. "You're talking to the wrong Crawley sister! Sybil is the one who loves baking. I was always more of a beans-on-toast kind of girl. Can't you just get something from the supermarket?" All Edith got in response to that was a deep scowl. "Fine, maybe find a simple recipe online?"

"Hmm…" Sherlock pulled his laptop out from under a pile of vegetable peelings and started trawling through Google.

* * *

><p><em>TBC... I promise!<em>

_And sorry it was a short one. :/_


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